Covert Casanova
by ddpjclaf
Summary: She's the artsy, outcast daughter of a rich, crooked lawyer. He's the self-absorbed undercover agent assigned to do whatever it takes to get the goods on daddy-even if that means making a play for his feisty daughter. AU/AH/OOC Fluffy. Lemonade.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

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****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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~*~Summary: _She's the artsy, outcast daughter of a rich, crooked lawyer. He's the self-absorbed undercover agent assigned to do whatever it takes to get the goods on daddy-even if that means making a play for his feisty daughter._ AU/AH/OOC. Lemonade. Probable fluffiness. Cannon C/J coupling. ~*~

_~Please read A/N at the bottom for more information._

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The incessant ticking of the grandfather clock, nestled in the corner, echoed throughout the cavernous office. Hodge sat behind the colossal mahogany desk, his feet propped on top and his fingers tented under his chin. Normally, the clock's steady beat served as a means to calm him. But not today, not when he was still trying to figure out how to deal with the newest case which lay nestled between the flaps of the manila folder situated on the center of his desk.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. It wasn't that such cases hadn't crossed his desk before. It was just the near impossibility to find someone who would meet the requirements needed to do this specific job.

The intercom situated near Hodge's foot buzzed and his secretary's voice blared from the speakers, "Mr. Starkweather, your three 'o clock is here."

Hodge lowered his feet and pressed the talk button. "Send her in. Thank you, Amatis."

"Right away, sir."

Hodge stood from his desk, ran his hands down the front of his shirt, and straightened his tie. It wasn't everyday that the Regional Director paid him a visit.

The knob twisted, and with a click, the door swung open. A tall, slender woman stepped inside, her walk smooth and confident. Hodge's eyes trailed the line of her sleek navy dress, all the way up to her shiny black hair which had been twisted neatly into a bun. Startling blue eyes met his as her hand shot out to shake his.

"Mr. Starkweather, it's a pleasure to meet you in person, finally."

Hodge swallowed and took her hand in his, her grip firmer than he expected. "And you as well, Director Lightwood."

"Maryse. Call me Maryse."

"Maryse." He nodded then gestured to the comfortable chair across the desk from him. "Please, have a seat. And, call me Hodge."

"Thank you, Hodge." Maryse smoothed her hands over the back of her dress and sat on the very edge of the chair, her legs crossed and posture straight. "I assume you know why I've asked for this conference with you?" She stared straight into his eyes, her brow raised in question.

Hodge fought to disguise the nervousness the woman brought out in him. "The Morgenstern case."

Maryse nodded and reached for the coffee cup situated in front of her, pausing before her fingers wrapped around the handle. "Is this for me?"

"Of course."

She smiled and lifted the cup to her red lips. After taking a sip and setting it down, she seemed to relax slightly, though not enough to make Hodge feel less anxious. "Yes. Valentine Morgenstern."

Hodge sighed and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the edge of the desk. "While I understand the need to move quickly on this case, I just—I'm not sure this is the best way to go about it."

"Oh?" Maryse lifted a brow. "Do you have another suggestion—one we haven't already tried?"

"No. But . . . is this really what the council feels will get us what we need? I mean, she's practically a child."

"She's nineteen, Hodge. Deemed an adult by every organization that's important."

"Yes, but . . . our agents are much older than that."

"Not all of them."

Hodge frowned. The only agents even close to nineteen would be those still training at the academy.

Maryse leaned forward, tapping her finger against a stack of recruit files shoved to the corner of Hodge's desk. "I have it on good authority you have a team with an outstanding track record. The best scores in practically the entire academy."

Hodge balked, knowing instantly whom she was talking about. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly."

He shook his head and stood, needing to move to keep his brain functioning. "That's—that's ludicrous!"

Maryse scowled and stood, keeping the palms of her hands pressed against the desktop and leaning over them. "Are you saying my children aren't good at what they do?"

Hodge's brows rose. "No. Of course not. Alec and Isabelle are outstanding agents; it's just . . . that other one." He grimaced and shook his head once more. "This is a really bad idea."

Maryse's shoulder relaxed and she stood to full height. "Mr. Herondale is, at twenty, probably the best agent we've seen at this academy. His skill is beyond anything we've witnessed in a long time."

"Yes, I agree he's a talented agent, but he's a loose cannon. Completely uncontrollable."

She leaned forward again. "But he can bring to the table exactly what we need in this particular case."

Hodge sighed again, knowing she was right. Herondale definitely had what they needed to knock this case out, but the thought of letting him loose—with a badge no less—made Hodge's eye twitch. A dull pain began in the center of his forehead. He reached up and rubbed it absently. "Are you sure about this?"

"It's the only way."

Letting out a slow breath, he leaned over and pressed the intercom button. "Amatis?"

"Yes, Mr. Starkweather?"

"Could you please locate Agents Lightwood and Herondale."

"Of course, sir. Do you have a message for them?"

"Tell them . . . tell them I need to see them, ASAP." He paused. "And have them bring their paperwork." He sighed, his chest squeezing uncomfortably at the prospect. "They're going on assignment."

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_For those of you who read my fic, TURBULENCE, you will recognize this as the blurb I put up at the end of ch.27._

_This is the beginning of a whole new TMI fic. It will be **AU/AH/OOC**. It is rated M for a reason, although, as those of you who read my work know, **I don't write full lemons**-but there will be plenty of "lemonade" (a term I got from a reviewer-Thanks Aimee!). What I mean by lemonade is, there is a certain amount of cirtus, but it has been watered down and a whole lot of sugar has been added. So please, don't anticipate or expect a full lemon, because there won't be one. Although, it does contain probably the douchiest Jace I've ever read—but hey, there may be douchier ones I haven't seen—we'll see._

_I'm only posting the prologue for now—since I already pretty much posted it in the A/N of the other fic. I don't plan to start really posting chapters of this until TURBULENCE is getting ready to wrap (which is soon, probably a few more weeks to a month at least). If you're interested in reading more of this, put the story on alert. :)_

_A special thanks to Lightlacedwithbeauty for taking the time to beta this for me. Love you, girl! XOXO  
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_Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed. :)_

_~ddpjclaf (FQ)_


	2. Impressions

**~1. Impressions~**

Okay, I caved. I NEED you to meet douche-Jace. I just need you to. (And because I can't deny you anything my lovlies-also, after this and next week's TURBULENCE updates, I think you may need some comedic relief. See, I can be nice. Not just the horrible wench who rips your hearts out on a whim.) *shrugs*.

*****WARNING: Boiling bags of douche ahead. Seriously. I warned you.***** Remember, this is rated M for a reason.

_Chapter Songs:_

_**I Gotta Feelin' – Blackeyed Peas_

_**Search and Destroy – 30 Seconds to Mars_

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The pungent scents of sweat and gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Jace crouched low behind a cement blockade, his handgun held pointing up against his chest. He inched closer to the edge of the barrier, his head cocked to the side, listening for the slightest movement. Once satisfied there was none, he pivoted around and shot to his feet, his weapon raised and pointed out in front of him.

A wooden, human-shaped target popped up from behind another structure. Jace squeezed the trigger, letting off several rounds and riddling the dummy with bullets before it even straightened. Several feet to his right, Alec stood.

"Why do you always have to be the first to shoot? Can't you ever give anyone else a chance?" he asked as he shoved his gun back into his belt.

"And why, pray tell, would I do that?" Jace raised a brow at Alec while holstering his own weapon. He shrugged. "I can't help it if you move with the speed of a dying snail. Hesitation leads to death in this occupation, and this," he swept a hand down the front of his body, "is too pretty to be cold and buried in the ground."

Alec rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Whatever," he muttered.

Jace sauntered over to the target, his eyes taking in the damage he'd caused. Three to the heart and one to the head. All four, kill shots. A satisfied smirk played upon his lips as he turned from the target. "See? How can you argue with my masterful skills? Look at this perfection."

"Is it really necessary for you to be a huge bag of douche at all times?"

"Not at all times," Jace walked over to the doors, "just when I feel I can get the most rise out of you. It makes my whole day—and sometimes tides me over well into the evening. That's my favorite."

"Can you push the reset when you leave?" Alec asked, ignoring Jace's mockery. "It's the least you could do since you didn't allow me any practice shots whatsoever."

"Of course, princess. Would you like me to set out your tiara and magic wand as well?" He gazed at Alec with the most innocent expression he could muster. "Wouldn't want you to strain your pretty self or mess up your manicure now would we? We know how taxing it can be to lift that big, heavy crown off your makeup table."

"God! You're such an ass!" Alec swore.

Jace chuckled. It wouldn't be a successful day if he didn't have his fun with Alec. Sure, he knew what an ass he was being, and it was absolutely on purpose—he thought, anyway. Though, at this point, he couldn't really distinguish the persona from the real deal. Maybe he had actually turned into a major asshat for real. Not that the thought bothered him all that much. For whatever reason, it helped him with the chicks and he wasn't complaining. Apparently, they liked guys who treated them like crap, felt them up in the back room, and promised to call but never did. Who knew? That knowledge would have made high school a whole hell of a lot easier for him had he known. Oh well, as the saying goes, hind sight is twenty/twenty.

Plucking the plastic card from around his neck, he swiped it through the reader and the heavy steel doors opened allowing him escape. Once outside, he pulled the large plastic goggles—the ones Alec called "birth control glasses"—from his face and deposited them in the container kept just next to the door.

He slammed his palm down on a large red button near another doorway, resetting the targets before stepping out into the hallway. Passing several closed off rooms on his way, Jace pondered what he might do that night. He could just hang around the Academy and practice shooting some more—they did have their evaluation coming up the next week. But who was he kidding? He had that crap in the bag. Plus, what kind of a loser would he be if he did that on a Friday night? A big one that's what. He wasn't Alec for Christ's sake.

There was always the club in town. But he was growing bored with the slim pickings of female companionship there. Hopefully, now that classes had started at the local university there'd be more to choose from.

Near the end of the hall, he veered off to the right, entering a large common room complete with a sofa, two chairs and a large flat screen television.

"It's about time. Did you put enough holes in things to satisfy your fragile ego?" Isabelle asked from her position sprawled across a cushy chair near the window. Her black hair cascaded down one side and her leg draped over the other. Holding a large hardcover book in her hands, she twirled a chunk between three fingers as her blue eyes fixed on Jace.

He plopped down on the couch, bringing his heel up to the coffee table in front of him. "For your information, my ego needs no satisfying. I'm quite happy—ecstatic even, with my lot in life."

"Of course you are." Isabelle dropped the book, jumped to her feet, and made her way to the small kitchenette, opening the refrigerator and bending over to take something out of the crisper drawer.

Even though Jace had grown up with Isabelle and never really thought of her in any romantic way, he still oogled her like the man-pig he was. He figured there would be something wrong with him if he didn't at least appreciate the package in front of him. After all, she brought it on herself, wearing those skintight leather pants all the damn time. If she didn't want him—or any other guy for that matter—to look, then she shouldn't be parading around dressed like she did. It was just common sense.

"Quit staring at my ass you perv. I'm practically your sister." Isabelle turned, a red apple clutched in her hand, and walked back to her chair, sitting down in the same position she'd donned before.

"Practically and truly are vastly different concepts, Izzy. And it's not like you never check me out."

She scoffed and turned her gaze to the far wall, narrowing her eyes against the faint flush creeping into her cheeks. "There is no way in hell I would ever get with you, _Herondale_. So, you can just forget it."

He leaned forward and grinned, her non-denial of his statement not lost on him. "As flattering as it is that you've thought about this enough to refuse you would ever 'get with me,' the fact remains—I didn't ask, _Lightwood_."

"Well, good, because I don't know where that thing's been and I really don't want to find out." She feigned a shudder. "You're such a man-whore, Jace."

"How ironic that _you_, of all people, should feel the need to point that out. Now, how many guys were you grinding up against last weekend at the club? I think I counted six at one point in the evening—or maybe it was eight?" He waved his hand in front of his face. "I don't know. I lost count, and frankly, interest. Whatever. But, if that isn't throwing stones I don't know what is." He settled back into the couch cushions and lifted his other leg to the coffee table, crossing his feet at the ankles and lacing his fingers behind his head.

Isabelle narrowed her eyes and stood. "That's not the same thing at all and you know it. I was dancing with those guys, not taking them off to the back room to have my way with them like you!" She spun on her heel and stormed off into her bedroom which adjoined the common room.

Jace smirked, pleased at his ability to work her into a tizzy. Isabelle had pegged him correctly, but what she didn't know was that, even though he did enjoy his fair share of female company, very few of those girls made it back to his bed like she assumed. He may have been loose with his lips but when it came to his—other parts—well, he figured if those girls were so quick to scurry back to the supply room with him, they probably were just as quick with other guys. He wasn't interested in exposing himself to whatever nastiness they may have contracted—but he wasn't about to tell Isabelle or anyone else that and ruin the playboy reputation he had going on. A relationship hungry girl was not what he was looking for at the moment. He wanted to have fun, and as long as they all believed that was all he was out for, the clingy ones stayed away. Just like he wanted.

A sudden buzzing vibrated against Jace's leg. He reached down and pulled out his phone, glancing at the caller ID. Sebastian. Jace pressed the call button and hunched back into the cushions, raising a hand to run through his hair.

"What's up, Douchebag?"

"Who are you calling a douchebag, Asstard?" A loud thumping and the sounds of squeals blasted through the phone.

Jace pulled it slightly away from his ear and sat forward. "Where are you?"

"At the club. Dude, you need to get your ass down here like yesterday."

"Yeah? That good?"

"Totally. These co-eds are rocking the place."

Jace frowned. While the prospect of a hook-up sounded appealing, he was becoming bored with the same old-same old college girls. He sighed. "Sounds fun man, but . . . I don't know. I'm kind of whipped." Jesus, were those words actually coming out of Jace-the-worlds-ultimate-ladies'-man-Herondale's mouth?

"Your favorite waitress is back," Sebastian tempted in a sing-songy voice.

Jace raised his brows and sat straight up. "Sexy bar wench?"

"The one and only."

Sexy bar wench (who Jace had affectionately dubbed SBW) had caught his eye and thwarted his advances all last year. He was determined that he would have her, and when he won her, she might even be awarded the pleasure of coming home with him. It was the least he could do given the fact that she'd played the most convincing game of hard-to-get he'd ever witnessed. It was sexy as hell.

He hopped to his feet and started toward his room. "Be there in twenty."

Sebastian laughed. "Hells yeah you will!"

Twenty-two minutes later, Jace found himself weaving through the gyrating crowd. The lights bounced off the scantily-clad moving bodies, making their skin appear strange shades of blue, green and orange. Several girls tried to grab onto him, their hands brushing across his chest and ass as he passed. But he didn't turn or look to see where any of the gropes came from. His eyes were trained on the bar near the back of the room. He knew this was where Sebastian would be waiting, and where SBW would most likely be at some point.

He broke through the throng of people several minutes later, spying Sebastian's dark head almost immediately. Jace sauntered over and leaned against the bar on one elbow. The bartender came over, giving him a flirting grin as she bent over the bar, her blond locks creating a veil around her nearly bursting bosom.

"What can I get for you, Sailor?"

Jace cocked a half-smile and moved even further in, curving his finger under her chin and tracing the curve of her jaw. "The usual, Kaelie, please."

Kaelie licked her lips and nodded, her breath leaving her in a slightly uneven shudder as she moved down the bar, grabbing a bottle and bringing it back to Jace. He flashed her a wink and passed a bill across the counter. "Thanks, Sweetness." Grabbing the bottle, he raised it to her and then took a long swig before turning to Sebastian. "So, fresh meat, eh?" he asked, his eyes straying across the crowded dance floor.

"You know it," Sebastian said, taking a drink from his own bottle. "I mean, look at them all. Have you ever seen anything so beautiful in your whole life?"

Jace chuckled and took another drink, studying the giggling co-eds dancing obliviously in front of them. "You really are an idiot, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," Sebastian said in an almost dreamy voice. "But, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Well, well, well," a supremely sexy and familiar voice sounded to Jace's left.

He glanced over and a slow smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

Sexy Bar Wench stood a few feet away, a smirk affixed to her face, and her hand cupping her hip. A silver clip swept her shoulder-length dark hair up into a twist at the back of her head. Loose strands framed her face and lay against her neck. A flirty glint sparkled in her dark almond-shaped eyes. "If it isn't my favorite patron of inappropriate propositions. How's it hanging, Ten?"

Jace chuckled at her nickname for him. The first time he'd met her she'd called him "Hang Ten," claiming it was because he looked like a surfer boy. He'd made some lewd comment about what he'd felt the name more appropriately applied to. And thus began their "relationship" and Jace's borderline obsession with conquering her. "A little to the left, but things are looking _up_ now that you've graced me with your presence."

"Always the charmer, aren't you?" SBW rolled her eyes and turned to the bartender, rattling off an order before looking back at him and swiping a chunk of hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

"Of course. I wouldn't be me if I wasn't." He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and allowed his eyes to rake over her body—not trying in the least to hide it.

She smiled, her cheeks taking on a pink hue before Kaelie came back with her drink order, and placed it on the serving tray. SBW picked it up and balanced it on her hand before turning to Jace and winking. "I have to get back to work. Training a newbie tonight." She rolled her eyes. "You behave yourself now, Ten. All right?"

"Behaving is overrated. Don't you think?" He winked.

"Sure. Whatever you say." She turned away with a laugh.

His eyes followed her fantastic ass as she made her way into the crowd and disappeared. With a sigh, he turned back to the bar, signaling for another drink. Sebastian was nowhere to be found. Jace craned his neck and furrowed his brow wondering where his friend could have disappeared to.

After finishing his drink, Jace started toward the dance floor. He looked around for a moment, feeling annoyed that Sebastian hadn't even told him he was leaving. Several girls latched onto him, cooing and rubbing against him. He indulged them for a few minutes, not wanting to seem like a total douche that was ungrateful for the attention. Because God knew Jace was all about attention. He lapped it up—in any form. Positive, negative, whatever. Anything anyone wanted to give him he was up for.

Once he made his way to the other side of the club, he spotted Sebastian near the restrooms. He supported himself against the wall with his arm and looked down on a girl, his gaze intense. Jace couldn't see the girls' face so he didn't know if it was one of the regulars who Sebastian seemed to favor or if it was someone new. All he could tell was that she looked very petite and just all around small. Curious as to who had so captured Sebastian's attention, Jace started toward them. He weaved his way through the patrons crowding the tables.

When he reached the back of the club and crossed in front of the supply room door, an arm shot out and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him into the dark room. Before he could react, the door shut behind him and his back slammed up against it. Hands pressed against his chest, and his senses were assaulted by the scent of freesia. "I think we've played around long enough, don't you?"

"SBW?" he asked, the surprise in his voice evident.

"God, you're so hot." Her breath washed over his face as she fisted her hands into his shirt and pulled him down, attacking his mouth with hers.

He froze for one point two seconds before her teeth tugged against his bottom lip and he got the hint that she wasn't interested in a slow work up. She was ready for him and she was ready now.

Jace snaked his arms around her and brought one hand up to her hair, grabbing a handful and holding her face hard against his. This just seemed to spur her on further and she reached around, cupping her hands over his ass and pulling him hard against her. Jace's breath came out in a large gush and he picked her up, pushing until it was him holding her against the wall across from the door. Her hands let go of him and he grabbed hold of them, stretching them up above her head and securing them with one of his. Their mouths continued to attack each other, all lips and teeth and tongue, neither giving control over to the other. Jace ran his other hand down her arms, then her side and trailed around to the back of her upper thigh, lifting her leg to hitch over his hip. She gasped as his fingers dug into her flesh and he pressed harder into her.

Suddenly, a patch of light spilled into the supply room, stretching across the floor and pooling just at Jace's feet. Jace whipped around, annoyance and frustration boiling to the surface as his eyes settled on a girl.

"Aline, where do they keep—" The girl stopped abruptly, her mouth hanging ajar and her eyes wide. "Oh, sorry!"

SBW or "Aline" huffed and stepped out from behind Jace, straightening her skirt and placing her hands on her hips. "What the hell, newbie? Ever heard of knocking?"

The new girl narrowed her eyes. "I wasn't aware I needed to knock on a supply room door. You know, there are such things as motels for you to do—whatever it is you were planning to do."

Aline laughed. "Oh, that's rich. Coming from Miss Innocent Co-ed over there. I'll make sure to consider your advice the next time I'm feeling a little randy at work. Do you think Magnus would be accepting of me leaving to go take care of a little business during work hours?"

Newbie stepped forward. "About as accepting as he would be of you doing it back here." Her eyes flashed to Jace and narrowed once more. "You know, this room is for employees only, and from the looks of you, you don't appear to be an employee."

A lazy grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. New Girl was feisty and didn't take intimidation lightly. He liked that—no, scratch that—he found it exceedingly hot.

Before Jace could utter a single word, Aline stepped forward and grabbed New Girl by the arm, tugging her closer to the door. "Are you threatening me?"

New Girl jerked her arm away. "Do you want me to threaten you? Please give me a reason because I'd like nothing more than to introduce your nose to my fist."

Oh, Jesus. If this girl wasn't just the most awesome thing since sliced bread, he didn't know what was. He sickly hoped she'd throw a punch. Though, he wasn't sure he'd be able to control his reaction if she did. From her appearance, she looked small and fragile. But the words she used and the way she held herself told him she was anything but. She was a spitfire and wasn't afraid who knew it.

Aline moved closer and thrust her hand into New Girl's chest, shoving Spitfire back several inches. Something inside Jace sparked and he found himself closing in on them. It was a weird sensation because it happened on instinct. He felt a strange protectiveness over the tiny girl.

Stepping in between them, he raised his hands palm out to keep them apart. "Aline, come on—" He felt his hand being pushed away. Glancing down, he found Spitfire's face glaring up at his.

"I don't need your help, Pretty Boy. I can manage all on my own, thank-you-very-much."

His mouth fell open. "I—"

"Just save it," she thrust her hand up in a warding motion and returned her eyes to Aline. "All I wanted to know was where the napkin refills are kept. Tell me that, and you can both return to your pathetic gropefest."

God, he loved her. She glanced up at him with a bizarre expression on her face. He swallowed under her gaze. What the hell? Did she actually make him . . . nervous? No, that couldn't be. No one made Jace Herondale nervous. _No one._ Especially not some little girl, no matter how feisty and sexy she was.

She raised a brow and placed her hands on her hips. "You gonna get that or are you getting off on how it feels in your pocket?"

Jace furrowed his brows until he noticed a persistent buzzing in his pants. It took him a moment to realize it was his phone. Reaching down, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the vibrating object. He stepped away from the girls who had resumed their argument and pressed the call button.

"What?" he asked irritably, wanting to go back and watch how the cat-fight unfolded.

"Don't 'what' me."

Jace pinched his nose and sighed. "What do you want Isabelle? I was in the middle of some awesome action."

"I don't care what you were in the middle of, Perv. Get back here, now. We've been called in."

He stiffened. "What?"

"Yeah. That's what I said. So get your ass back here pronto so we can see what's what."

"On my way." He tucked the phone back in his pocket. The girls were still bickering back and forth behind him and he considered letting them know he was leaving, but decided against it. The sight of them in each other's faces was just too beautiful to interrupt.

As he made his way to the door, he spotted Sebastian and caught his eye. Sebastian raised his brows and Jace lifted his hands, holding one to his ear in the signal for phone and gestured to the door before shrugging. Sebastian nodded in understanding and waved him away, turning back to the platinum blond in front of him.

Jace stepped out of the club onto the noisy, crowded street. Horns blared as traffic rushed by. He moved passed the line of people anxiously awaiting entrance to the club and crossed to the small back lot where his motorcycle sat. Throwing on his jacket and pulling the helmet over his head, he swung his leg over and straddled the bike. He kicked it to start and the engine roared to life, the vehicle humming underneath him. A grin stretched across his lips as the bike shot forward and a rush of wind swept by him.

As usual, the ride back to the Academy was uneventful. The traffic moved as thick and slow as usual, but with his ability to weave in and out, his drive took him a fraction of the time it took everyone else.

Once he reached the formidable, gleaming building, he parked his bike in the underground garage and hopped on the elevator. Annoying Soft Rock played from the speakers and Jace rolled his eyes at the clichéness of it all. Couldn't someone, somewhere use real Rock in the elevators—if only to be somewhat different and individual about it? But no, everyone had to go along with the same unoriginal social norms of Reo Speedwagon and Air Supply pumping out of their sound systems as one endured a cosmically boring ride up a skyscraper.

Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors opened into a spacious waiting area. A long, sleek desk made of dark-cherry wood stretched out against the wall near the back. A distinguished looking older woman with gray streaked light hair sat behind it.

She looked up as Jace stepped over the threshold, and smiled. "Agent Herondale, nice of you to finally join us."

Jace smirked and leaned over the desk, pecking her on the cheek. "How would I maintain my careless reputation if I was on time?" He tsked. "You know better than that, Amatis."

She shook her head. "Yes, well, _you_ know better than to keep Mr. Starkweather waiting too long, don't you Agent? We wouldn't want a repeat of last time's punishment, would we?" She raised a brow.

Jace grimaced. "No, I suppose not." He turned toward the large wooden doors on the other side of the room. "Catch you later, Sweetness."

Amatis' soft chuckle followed him to the doorway. Without even pausing to gather himself, Jace pushed down on the handle and opened the doors to Mr. Starkweather's office. Unsurprisingly, he found Isabelle and Alec already inside seated on the nearest side to him, and Hodge firmly planted behind the massive desk. He sat straight upright, rigidity and stress visible in the way he held himself.

Jace frowned. "Whatever it is, I probably did it and am not the least bit sorry."

Hodge's eye twitched and he sighed, gesturing with his hand. "Have a seat, Agent Herondale."

Jace shut the door behind him then placed his hands on the back of the chair, catapulting himself over the back before settling himself in the seat. Isabelle rolled her eyes and Alec sighed.

Hodge leaned forward, his elbows on the desk and his hands clasped firmly in front of him. A small bead of sweat swelled at his brow and his eye continued to twitch. Jace thought to himself that Hodge should probably get that checked. He wasn't sure how normal it was to have it twitching like that all the time.

Hodge took a deep breath and settled back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. "I had a visit from Director Lightwood this afternoon."

"Mom—er, why?" Alec asked.

"She was here about a case—a very important case." He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before opening them once again and leaning forward. "Before I go on I must tell you that I think this is a bad idea. I don't believe you're at all ready for a responsibility as big as this." His eyes fell on Jace and stayed there. "But it's out of my hands. You three have been requested and I have no choice but to surrender to what the Council decides."

"What's this all about, Hodge?" Isabelle asked.

Hodge stood and moved to the filing cabinet, pulling open the third drawer and rifling through until he took out a thick folder. Slapping it down on the desk, he leaned over and jabbed it with his finger. "Are you at all familiar with Valentine Morgenstern?"

Isabelle answered. "Prominent lawyer in the state. He's represented many high profile clients, and he's rumored to be working under the table for the Ruffio crime family."

"Exactly," Hodge said, settling himself back in the chair once more. Opening the file, he pulled out a paper and slid it in front of them. The three Agents leaned forward, taking in the details presented. On the sheet was a photo of a distinguished looking man. His hair a light blond and eyes the color of midnight. "Valentine Morgenstern has been under our investigation for years. We've watched him from afar, watched his business associates and even sent in spies to work under him in order to gain access. So far, all of that has turned up nothing. We needed a better approach, a more—personal approach." His eyes fell on them once more. "This is where you all come in."

Jace, Alec and Isabelle looked at each other in confusion. What could they have to offer that more experienced Agent's could not?

Hodge took the photo back and reached into the folder once more, grabbing another sheet and holding it up. Closing his eyes briefly and letting out a breath, he continued. "Since all other attempts to gain the information we need to put him away have failed, the Council has come up with one last idea. One that, honestly, I'm not all that comfortable with, but they feel it's the only way." He cleared his throat. "It's well know that Valentine has a son, Jonathan, because he works for him and is rapidly following in his father's footsteps. But, what the media world doesn't seem to focus on is the fact that he has a daughter as well." Hodge looked down at the sheet of paper in his hand once more. "Clarissa Morgenstern, age nineteen, college student, art major."

Jace scoffed. "So the man has a daughter, big deal. Does she work for him too?"

"No." Hodge shook his head.

Jace shrugged. "So why does she matter?"

Hodge eyed him carefully. "She matters because she is how you're going to get in. How you're going to get us the information we need."

Isabelle sat up straight. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, your assignment is this girl." He shook the paper in his hand. "It will be your job to institute yourselves into her life. Gain her trust, her friendship, her—" his eyes froze on Jace, "anything you need to do to get her to trust you, to invite you in."

"So . . ." Alec started. "You're saying we need to . . . pretend . . . to be friends with this girl and then use that to gain access to her father?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"That's sick," Isabelle said. "I mean, she's not like Valentine and his son, right? Isn't this unusually cruel? I mean, to use her like this?"

Hodge nodded, but Jace interrupted. "Oh, come on, guys. It's a job. We can't go thinking about the person when we have a job to do. You know that."

Isabelle and Alec stared at him in disgust.

"What? That's how it works. If you can't do it, you shouldn't be here."

Isabelle opened her mouth to respond, but Hodge held up a hand to stop her. "As much as it sickens me, he's right. You have to separate your innate human feelings and focus on the job. This isn't how we like to do things, but this is what it's come down to. We have no other choice."

Jace smirked and Isabelle rolled her eyes at him. "So, who is this lucky little girl, anyway?" he asked.

Hodge sighed once more and slid the paper he'd been holding down in front of them. Jace glanced down and his breath nearly caught in his throat. A mass of vibrant red waves flowed around her tiny, porcelain face and wide, innocent emerald eyes stared back at him. He swallowed hard as recognition flowed over him.

"I know this girl," he said, not really meaning to voice the thoughts in his mind.

"Jesus, Jace, tell me you haven't blown this by screwing her already?" Isabelle said.

He scowled and met Isabelle's eyes. "No. But your staggeringly high faith in me to get the job done that quickly warms my heart." His eyes fell back to the photograph, taking in the small smirk and smattering of freckles dotted across her nose. "I met her briefly at the club tonight. She's working as a waitress there."

"Good," Hodge said, snatching the picture back and shoving it into the folder, which strangely irritated Jace. "Then you can be the first to approach her."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I didn't get the feeling she liked me very much."

Alec laughed. "Well, well, Jace Herondale admitting he's not God's gift. I never thought I'd see the day."

Jace scowled. "I'm admitting no such thing. I just don't know that we got the best impressions of one another, that's all."

"Oh, hell. Did you grab her ass, Jace? Seriously? Did you?" Isabelle asked.

Jace slammed his hands down on the desk and turned his glare to Isabelle. "For your information, she actually walked in on me with my hands on someone else's ass. Happy?"

Isabelle snorted. "Classic douchebaggery behavior. God, you never disappoint, Herondale."

Hodge sighed. "Yes, well, you'll figure it out, but I expect you to have made some sort of progressive contact by the end of next week." His eyes met Jace's. "Don't screw this up. This is the last chance we have." He leaned over and pressed the intercom once more. "Amatis?"

"Yes, Mr. Starkweather?"

"I'm sending these three out. Could you please give them the packets they need?"

"Of course, sir."

Jace, Isabelle, and Alec stood and Hodge escorted them to the door. "We're counting on you three. Good luck."

The door shut behind them and the weight of the situation fell on Jace's shoulders. He'd never expected his first assignment to be one as big as this. Valentine Morgenstern's daughter of all people. Hell. That was big stuff. But more importantly, that little spitfire was going to be a handful—one he was more than willing to try and tame. A smirk pulled at the edges of his lips.

"What the hell are you grinning at, Asshat?"

He turned and met Isabelle's blazing blue eyes. Leaning forward, he whispered, "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She huffed and he grinned again, starting toward Amatis' desk. Yeah, this was going to be fun.

* * *

_Ahhhh. Douche-Jace. You gotta love/hate him, right? Don't worry. The douchiness will continue and get much, much worse before it gets better (if ever). I guarantee you that._

_Oh, and now I MEAN it. No more chapters until TURBULENCE is almost done. (Okay, maybe I mean it—we'll see…)_

_Adios!_

_~XOXOX ddpjclaf (FQ)_


	3. Cheekies and Granny Panties

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**2. Cheekies and Granny Panties**

As promised, more Douche-Jace (heretofor referred to as DJ). Enjoy the doucheyness. :D

_Chapter Song:_

_**I'm a Bitch, I'm a Lover – Alanis Morissette_

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Jace let out a long exaggerated sigh as he stood next to the door, his shoulder pressed up against the wall and his eyes inspecting a hangnail on his thumb.

Alec squatted down by the door handle, a tiny metal instrument clasped in his hand that he used to manipulate the locking mechanism to release. He fiddled for a while, biting his lip in concentration.

Jace released another sigh.

Alec whipped his head toward Jace and narrowed his eyes. "Would you shut up?"

"Would you hurry up?" Jace countered, raising a brow. "Or would you prefer Spitfire and her Gamer-Geek roomie to return and find you with your pick stuck in her door knob? Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't think that's the type of impression we want to set at this point."

"I thought you'd already ruined your shot at a good impression with her?"

Jace waved Alec's comment off. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about my impression. I can charm any girl, no matter the compromising position they may have found me in. Trust me."

"I wasn't aware fifteen minutes had passed since your last bragging stint. Is it time for another already?" Alec rolled his eyes and went back to picking the lock.

After five minutes, Jace sighed again.

"Your noises don't help me go any faster."

"I have no idea how my mere breathing can act as a deterrent for you, but don't blame me for your lack of speed. We've already talked about this, Alec." Jace went back to studying his fingers.

Alec threw his tools to the ground and stood. "Well, if you're so good, why don't you just do it yourself?"

Jace dropped his hands and grinned. "Finally. I've been waiting for you to give up and turn the job over to the master." He pushed Alec aside. "Watch and learn."

Crouching down in front of the door, Jace picked up the little metal tools and went to work on the lock. First, he slid one into the space and then the other, twisting them until he felt the pick fit into the notch. A grin spread over his lips as he turned his hands and a resounding click echoed through the hallway. He glanced up at Alec, his smirk firmly in place. "You may grovel at my feet now."

Alec rolled his eyes and shoved passed Jace, his gloved hands opening the door, and both boys stepped inside. After pocketing the tools, Jace slipped on his own pair of gloves and looked around the apartment. It was small, but pretty decent considering the neighborhood it was in. He ran his hand along the bar, slipping a small bug underneath the lip of the counter edge. Alec placed one in the folds of a lampshade and another in a heating vent on the ceiling. Jace fingered the books on her shelf, trying to assemble her interests. After watching her for the last few days, he'd gathered she was a studious person, always studying or working on her art. She rarely went out—except for work—and had a roommate. There was also another male, Hispanic, who came and went and who may or may not have been her boyfriend. Jace had yet to see much interaction between the two as they seemed to keep very different schedules.

While Alec finished placing the bugs, Jace wandered into the hall, peeking in through the first door, noticing it stood completely empty. The second held a small full bath, the counter littered with male grooming products. The next room also seemed inherently male with its large gaming and band posters affixed to the walls, a heap of clothing spread over the floor as if a tornado had hit it, and a few pornos stuffed haphazardly under the bed. Jace snorted at the half-assed hiding job. He figured he'd probably find lotion and a box of tissue in the drawer of the nightstand—but he didn't check.

He followed the hallway to the end bedroom—the master—and stepped inside. This room was definitely female, though not overbearingly so. The colors were neutral, soft browns and blacks and whites. Sketched portraits and landscapes with black metal frames hung on each wall. He moved closer, studying the detail put into each one and noticed the "CM" signed in the corners. She was good. Better than he'd expected for a second year art student.

Her closet door stood open. Clothes arranged on hangers poked out, revealing her non-flashy wardrobe. So, she was simple, didn't like making much of a fuss. Jace liked that—less complicated that way. He moved to her dresser, looking at the photos scattered on top. There were a few of a red-haired woman who looked very much like her, but older. The mother, he surmised. Another frame consisted of Valentine Morgenstern himself, and his older son Jonathan. Jace huffed at the haughty expression both men wore. God, he couldn't wait to take them down.

His eyes traveled down to the partially opened top drawer. Sticking out from the corner was a small bit of black lace. Jace tucked a finger through it and tugged. Out came a tiny pair of black cheekies.

"Hmm. Spitfire's hiding a little naughty underneath all the plain jane," he said to himself. With a grin, he shoved the panties back in the drawer. He was sorely tempted to steal them because lace cheekies were a serious weakness for him, but he liked the idea that if he left them there, he could still imagine her in them.

A rustling from the doorway caused Jace to look up. Alec stood there, a smug expression on his face, waggling a piece of paper in his hand. "I think I found a way in."

.o.O.o.

"Oh, come on! Piece of—" Clary kicked the turn style in front of her. She swiped her card once more. Error. "Damn it!" Throwing the MetroCard back into her purse, she dug to the bottom, looking for a few spare bucks left over after she'd deposited most of her tips. Figures. The one day she decided to stop by the bank after an afternoon shift is the one day her MetroCard would decide to throw a conniption. Finally fishing out the correct change to buy a pass, she moved through the gates and boarded the train.

Her feet killed and all she wanted to do was sit down, but as per usual, the car was full to the max, leaving only standing room. She squeezed through, positioning herself between a fat, hairy, biker-looking dude and a thirty-something business man in a gray suit. On normal days, she liked to ride the subway, people-watching and gaining ideas for new drawings or paintings. There were times when she just rode for hours, looking and learning. It was sort of like a religious experience for her.

But that day she just wanted to get home, draw a hot bath and soak for at least an hour—maybe two if Simon wasn't home. Not that she minded if he was there, it was just he never wanted to let her relax. He always pestered her to "look at his awesome new comic," or "help him beat the easy level on Rock Band just one more time." She rolled her eyes and smiled. As annoying as he could be, she really did love the big goon.

Clary's eyes swept passed the people crammed in beside her to the windows, squinting to make sense of the shapes rushing passed. This was another time-wasting activity she and Simon did when they were bored. They called it, "Name That Blur." Yeah, they were idiots.

Suddenly, a buzzing jolt, and the sound of Radiohead blared from inside her bag. She plunged her hand inside and rummaged around until her fingers wrapped around the vibrating object. Putting it to her ear, she said, "Hello?"

"Crap! Crap! Oh, no . . . Come on! I so didn't screw that up!"

Clary rolled her eyes and sighed. "Simon, at least put down the guitar while you're calling me."

"Sorry," he grumbled.

"Now, what do you want?" She rubbed her fingers across her forehead, trying to ward off the coming headache.

"What?" Simon asked, distracted once more. "Oh, uh, we got another call on the room."

"Oh yeah? Guy or girl?"

"Girl." A muffled crash sounded in Clary's ear and then a bunch of crackling before Simon's voice came once more. "Sorry, I dropped the phone, but at least it wasn't in the toilet this time."

"Simon, are you peeing while on the phone again?"

"What?" he said defensively. "I'm not going to risk a UTI or my bladder exploding just because it makes you uncomfortable when I pee while we're talking. You should have more concern over my well-being."

Clary closed her eyes. "You know your bladder won't explode if you wait two minutes to hang up the phone."

"I do _not_ know that. And I'd prefer not to risk it. Oscar would never forgive me if I harmed him in any way."

"Jesus." Clary sighed and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Do we _have_ to discuss your penis while I'm on the subway? Seriously?"

Simon ignored her. "So, anyway, the girl's coming by tonight to take a look."

"Okay. Did she sound nice?"

"I dunno. She sounded hot though."

"How can you not know whether a person sounds nice or not but you can tell that they're hot?"

"It's a gift."

The train pulled into the stop and Clary clutched her bag tighter against her as the crowd started to move. "Listen, I'm at our stop. I'll be up in ten."

"Yeah, all right. Lates."

Clary rolled her eyes and pushed the end button on her phone. She loved Simon, but God, he annoyed her. Stepping out onto the platform, Clary hurried up the stairs onto the busy street. Cars whizzed by and horns blared, warning pedestrians that they may have the right of way but the vehicles were bigger and harder and they weren't interested in stopping for anyone.

Her apartment building loomed in front of her. It was okay, not anything near what her father had wanted her to rent, but she was through taking his handouts. They weren't free and she was tired of living under his authority. If she ever wanted to break away and be her own person, this was the first logical step. Her father still sent her money every month, which she shoved in a savings account, refusing to spend it and opting to support herself through waitressing. The pay sucked hard and so did her apartment, but it was hers. Well, and Simon's.

When Clary had told Simon she wanted to rent something away from her father's interests, he jumped at the chance to split the rent with her. They'd found this crappy little three bedroom and moved in last month. It was decided early on that once school started they'd advertise for another roommate. In the past week, they'd had sixteen calls. None of which were a good match for them. They didn't have a preference as to guy or girl, but they just had to click. In a city this huge, it surprised Clary how hard finding a suitable person really was. She hoped they found someone soon because with an added night class, she would have to cut back on her shift at the club, and that would mean less cash inflow for the utilities.

Once she entered the building, she took the steps two at a time, making it to the third floor in two minutes. Taking out her keys, she twisted them in the lock and opened the door. She walked through the foyer and threw her keys on the small table near the door, stowing her purse on the shelf underneath.

"I'm home," she called, pulling her coat and hat off as she moved to the living area.

Simon came from the back hall, his hair disheveled and his t-shirt tucked into his underwear in the back.

Clary laughed and walked up to him, pulling his shirt out. He grinned and plopped down on the couch. Clary followed, raising her tired feet to rest on the coffee table.

"Tough day at school?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, laying her head against the soft cushions, wishing she could just fall asleep, but she had to work in a few hours. "You have no idea. What I was thinking when I signed up for eight classes, I'll never know."

"Um, I think you were thinking you wanted to go insane and spend the rest of your life in the looney bin."

"For once, I agree with you, Si." She took in a deep breath. "So, when is the girl coming?"

Simon opened his mouth to answer when the doorbell rang. Clary groaned and launched herself off the sofa, her feet screaming in protest at the sudden movement. She opened the door to find a girl about her age with long dark hair and piercing blue eyes, standing just outside.

The girl smiled and stuck out her hand. "You must be Clary. I'm Isabelle."

Clary reached out and shook her hand, grinning in return. "The one and only," she said and turned to Simon, rolling her eyes at his ajar jaw. "And this is Simon."

Simon's cheeks flushed and he held out his hand as well. Once the formalities were out of the way, Clary invited Isabelle in and commenced showing her around the apartment.

"So, what do you think?" Clary asked, hopeful. So far, Isabelle seemed a good match for both Simon and herself. She was feisty but also polite.

"I think it's just the right size and it's a plus that my brother and cousin live just upstairs."

"Really?" Clary raised a brow. "I don't know of any guys living upstairs."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you that someone did rent out Mrs. Seely's old place the other day."

"Oh." Clary frowned. "Well, if you don't mind my asking, if they already have an apartment, why do you want to stay here?"

"That one's just a two bedroom, and honestly, I can only take so much of them, you know?"

Clary laughed. "Believe me, I know. I have a brother and then this one over here." She cocked her thumb over her shoulder toward Simon. "So, I totally get it."

"Hey," Simon said, his forehead scrunched in a fake expression of hurt.

Clary grinned and patted his cheek. "Don't worry, Si. No matter how annoying you get I still love you."

Simon lifted her up and twirled her around, laying a sloppy wet kiss on her cheek. "Yeah, I know. I'm completely irresistible."

"I wouldn't go that far." Clary swiped her hand over her cheek, removing the drool Simon deliberately left there.

Isabelle smiled and studied them carefully. "So, how long have you two been together?"

Simon choked on his spit and Clary snorted. "We're not together."

"Really?" Isabelle's eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. "You guys seem so . . . I don't know, like an old married couple or something."

Simon finally got himself together. "We've known each other practically our whole lives. We're just really good friends. Plus, she has a boyfriend, anyway."

"Raphael is not my boyfriend, Simon."

"Could've fooled me with the amount of tonsil hockey I witnessed the other night."

Clary glared at him. "First of all, ew. What the hell were you watching for? And second, we're just dating. So you know, we're not official."

"Whatever," Simon muttered.

The both of them got to know Isabelle over the next hour and learned she was a transfer student at the University and worked at an upscale boutique in the city. After a while, Clary glanced down at her watch.

"Oh, shoot!"

"What?" Simon asked.

Clary hopped up and rushed into her room. "I'm gonna be late for work!" She hurriedly dressed in her uniform: a short black skirt, white tank top, and a red button up that they tied in the front. It was slightly degrading, but she was able to make the most money for the little amount of time she could put in. It still sucked but it was the best she could do at the moment.

She rushed out into the living room, stopping only for a moment to find out Isabelle's decision. "Well? What do you think?"

Isabelle stood. "I like it, so if you'll have me . . ."

"Of course," Clary said. "I'm sorry, I've gotta run, but we'll be here this weekend if that works for you to move."

"Yeah." Isabelle moved over to her. "I'll walk out with you."

Clary grinned and waved over her shoulder to Simon. "Behave yourself, Si."

"Yeah, yeah." He motioned for her to get lost.

"I think this is going to be fun," Isabelle said as they made their way down the stairs.

Clary nodded. "Me too. It'll be nice having another girl there to suffer through Simon's discussion about all of his anatomy's functions."

Isabelle shot her a horrified look.

Clary threw her head back and laughed. "Yes, be afraid. Be very afraid."

The girls parted ways at the subway terminal and Clary made it to work just on time. She flew back into the employee lounge, shoved her bag in her designated locker, and pulled out her apron, tying it hastily around her waist. She grabbed a ponytail holder from the shelf and twisted her hair up into a loose bun before slamming the door.

On her way out, she ran into Aline, who narrowed her eyes and stepped right in Clary's path. "You better stay out of my way tonight, Newbie."

Clary glared up at her. "It seems to me the only one in anyone's way is you."

Aline leaned forward, her face only inches from Clary's. "I have my eye on you."

Clary rolled her eyes and pushed by Aline. Great, an enemy already. Awesome. God, some people get really cranky when they're cockblocked. It wasn't her fault Pretty Boy took off. But Aline had been the ultimate witch after that, grumbling about waiting a year or some other nonsense. It seemed to Clary that that boy would've given it up much sooner than that if Aline had wanted. He looked the type. Rich, arrogant, hot. Yes, she could admit he was hot. Like, beyond hot. But she wasn't interested in people merely for their looks. She required character, substance. She doubted a guy like that would have either of those things.

"You were three minutes from being late."

Clary startled and whipped toward the voice. Her boss, Magnus, stood in the doorway to his office, picking at his nails. His hair was spiked on one side and slicked flat to his head on the other. He wore skin tight leather pants, and a purple sequined vest, open, with no shirt underneath.

"Sorry," she said. "I lost track of time. It won't happen again."

He looked up, catching her eyes. "Make sure it doesn't."

She nodded and hurried out to the bar. Once there, she grabbed a tray and rested against the counter. She closed her eyes and lowered her head to her arms.

"You can't tell me you're tired already. I know I just saw you come in."

Clary raised her head, her eyes meeting the golden ones of the cocky guy from the other night. She mimicked his posture and leaned against the bar with one elbow. "Spying on me now, Cass?"

He raised a brow. "Cass?"

"Yeah." She shrugged. "Short for Casanova—unless you'd prefer one of the other less romantic sounding names . . . ladies' man, player, man-whore, take your pick. I'm good with any."

He puckered his lips and bit back a grin. "So you really are that feisty. I thought the other night was just a special treat, but knowing it's an all the time thing, well, that's even hotter."

Clary rolled her eyes, willing them to stop their relentless inventory of his body. She had a soft spot for blondes. She couldn't help it. Plus, he looked like he took care of himself. Sculpted and hard in all the right places. And did she spy a bit of ink peeking out from underneath the collar of his shirt? Hell. Tattoos? Damn it. Too bad he was such an ass, because that was freaking hot. "Yes, well, I should be going. Wouldn't want to keep you from the abundance of back room groping I'm sure you were planning for this evening."

"Um hmm," he said as he scoped the crowd. "Yes, I'm sure there'll be some of that."

"You sure are a cocky bugger aren't you?"

He glanced back at her. "Confident." His tongue darted out and wet his bottom lip. Clary couldn't help when her gaze followed it. "I've been told it's the smile that does it."

Clary huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes finally leaving his mouth. "Oh really?"

He nodded once and brought the bottle he held up to take a drink.

"A smile?"

He nodded again.

"I'm not buying it."

He chuckled and placed his bottle on the counter. "You think I'm lying?"

"No, I just refuse to believe that you can just get whatever you want with a smile."

He shrugged. "I could show you if you want—but don't hold me responsible for what may happen after I unleash it on you."

"Oh, I think I can handle it."

"Suit yourself."

Bending at the waist, he leaned in toward her. He turned his head to the side, almost as if he was making sure no one else would see, then slowly looked back at her, his eyes meeting hers from under his lashes. His lips parted, and ever so slowly, a sly grin pulled at the edges of his mouth.

Clary had never believed in the fabled "panty-dropping smile," and figured any girl who blamed her hoishness on something so idiotic was nothing more than a skank of epic proportions. She just found it inconceivable that any man could make a girl want to disrobe with just a grin. But holy hell in a hand basket, if there truly was such a thing this was it. To her utter mortification, she had the distinct urge to rip off her underwear and hand them to him. Fortunately for her, they happened to be of her least attractive "granny panty" variety, and there was no way she'd let a guy see them no matter what sort of strange voodoo grin he had.

She swallowed and took in a breath, calming the strange heat coursing through her. "That's actually pretty good."

He smiled wider and stood up straight, placing his elbow on the counter and looking out at the crowd. "I know." Cocking another grin, he glanced back at her from the corner of his eyes. "You want to give me your panties now, don't you?

"No," she lied, and grabbed her tray from the bar. "You know, it's too bad you're such an ass or you could be a half ways decent catch."

"Only half ways?" He looked back at her and raised a brow.

"Well, you're not completely ill-fated in the looks department." She gave him her best innocent smile and batted her lashes at him. "But, there's no way you could get rid of all that assishness, so yes, half ways will have to do."

He grinned again and pushed away from the counter, grabbing his bottle as he moved. Before making his way back into the crowd, he leaned into her, his lips nearly touching her ear as he whispered, "Someday, Spitfire, I will get you to give me those panties." And with those parting words, he was gone.

Clary shook her head, unable to stop the smile pulling at the edges of her lips. He really was way too much of an ass to ever like, yet, Clary found herself mildly intrigued and slightly disappointed she didn't think to catch his name. Regardless of all the things she didn't know, one thing was certain, that boy was trouble, and if Clary wasn't careful, she could imagine herself falling right in the thick of it.

.o.O.o.

Just as Jace stepped out into the smog-filled night air, his phone buzzed.

"Yeah," he answered. A couple of girls waiting in line caught his eyes and giggled. He grinned and lifted his chin in acknowledgment. They giggled again and started talking quietly amongst themselves.

"You make contact yet?" Isabelle asked.

"Are you doubting me again, Izzy?"

She sighed. "Unfortunately, no. When it comes to women, your ability to charm them is undeniable albeit repulsive."

"Thanks for the compliment. I know how hard it is for you to bestow them upon us lesser beings."

"Shut up," she said. "So, did you or not?"

"I did, and everything is going according to plan."

"All right, here too. I'm moving in this weekend. So, be ready to help." She paused. "Do you think she likes you?" The question seemed odd and Isabelle's voice was mildly cautious.

"What does it matter if she likes me? She wants me. That's enough to get done what I need to get done."

Isabelle sighed.

"What?"

"I don't know . . ." She was quiet for a moment. "This feels wrong. She's—she's a nice girl, Jace."

Jace stopped and leaned against the building, raising his hand to his forehead. "Look. Sometimes we have to do this stuff to nice people. It sucks but that's the job. We both signed up for it and this is the assignment we were given. We can't think about how nice she might be or anything like that. We're here to get to her father. Nothing more, nothing less."

"She's not like the bimbos you usually get with, Jace. You could really hurt her if you're not careful."

"It's just flirting, Izzy. I'm not planning on taking it any farther than that." He rounded the corner and walked across the dark parking lot. "So just stop worrying."

Another loud sigh came through the phone. "One of these days, some girl is going to come along and make you feel—something. And when she does, you're really going to regret the ass you've been for so long."

He climbed on the back of his bike and chuckled. "Not likely, Iz. I'm not looking for that—ever. I like being the eternal bachelor. It suits me."

"Yeah, you would," she said.

"See you at home." He pressed the off button and pulled his helmet over his head, kicking the bike to life. As he rode off, he thought about what Isabelle had said, about Clary being a nice girl and that if he wasn't careful he could hurt her. But he had already resolved that this would be a simple case of flirting. He could already tell he affected her by the way her breathing picked up when he spoke, and the pink flush that spread over her cheeks at one look. In time, she would give him anything he wanted—if he asked. But he wouldn't ask. This was a job, pure and simple. The girl was a means to an end. Nothing more. Nothing less. Even though he knew this and he was determined to see it that way no matter what, the vision of her tiny smirk and smattering of freckles flashed through his mind. And for a brief moment, he wondered if things were different, if he wasn't him, and if she wasn't who she was, if maybe, just maybe she was the type of girl Isabelle had been talking about. The type that could have the potential to be something more.

* * *

_Yeah, Jace is a total assbag. Is it weird that I strangely love that? Even though he makes me want to smack him? You know you all agree and you love his doucheyness just as much as I do. And just in case it wasn't obvious, DJ oozes sex and he knows it and uses it to get what he whats/needs. So, yeah, this fic will be rife with sexual tension (a lot of it unresolved...). Just a warning for later. ;)  
_

_Thanks to my beta, Lightlacedwithbeauty. She does a great job finding my mistakes and telling me if my words are crap. Love you, girl!_

_Until next time DJ-hos…;)(Btw, I don't have a set schedule for updating this yet so please be patient.)_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	4. Schmexy Tats and Innuendos

****The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

**3. Schmexy Tats and Innuendos**

Do I even need a doucheyness warning? I think you all expect it by now, right?

_Chapter Songs:_

_**I Can Do Anything – 3Oh!3 (Scene 1 - Jace)  
_

_**I'm too Sexy – Right Said Fred (Scene 2 - Simon & Clary)_

_**Pokerface – Lady Gaga (Scene 2&3 - Clary)  
_

_

* * *

_

"We've already gotten our first assignment," Alec complained as he leaned over and tied his boots, tucking the laces down inside. "I just don't understand why we still have to participate in these stupid games."

Jace hooked the blousing strap around his lower calf and shoved the bottom of his black fatigues up underneath, pulling them down so they sat right at the top of his boot. "What are you complaining about? Shooting stuff is fun." He stood and thrust his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, buttoning it quickly and pushing his cap onto his head. "Plus, we've got this in the bag anyway."

"You mean _you've_ got it in the bag." Alec stood next to Jace and finished putting on his uniform. "Unless this means you're going to actually let me shoot something for once."

Jace snorted. "Yeah. Right. I'm not about to risk our place as top shooters just so you can fire off a few."

"You know, you're only screwing yourself. It'll be entirely your fault if we ever get into a situation where I need to cover you and you get shot because you'd never let me practice during live fire exercises."

"That's just ridiculous, Alec." Jace moved toward the door, his starched pants making a scratching sound as he walked. "Why would I ever screw myself when I have so many partners willing to do it for me?"

"Yes, that would be the part of that whole exchange you picked up on."

"Well, it was the only interesting thing you said." Jace pushed open the doors leading to the weapon containment area. He stepped up to the desk, Alec right behind him, and slid his I.D. over the scanner.

Another door off to his left whooshed open revealing a small cylindrical chamber. Jace moved inside and the doors closed. He spread his arms and a circular beam of light trailed from the top of his head to the souls of his feet, searching his body for weapons he shouldn't have in the arena. Once the machine did its thing, the doors opened once more, only this time he exited into a large room with various guns hanging from the walls. He picked one and slung the strap over his shoulder just as Alec entered the room.

Jace slouched against the wall as he waited for Alec to pick his weapon. He gave Alec a lot of flack, but in all honesty, he was one of the best agents in the class. Alec needed a certain amount of feather ruffling to reach his peak. Jace had learned that in their first week together. If Jace teased and pushed, Alec pushed back and performed a hundred times better. Sure, being an asshole came to him honestly, but at least with Alec it served a purpose greater than just making Jace feel superior. It was a win-win.

Alec stood at the wall opposite Jace, one hand hanging at his side and the other touching his chin as if he was deep in thought.

Jace rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Alec, just pick one before I die of old age waiting for you."

Alec turned to Jace, his brows furrowed. "I'm looking for the one I used last time. There was a lot less kick-back and it just felt natural in my hands."

Jace opened his mouth to speak, an innuendo burning on his lips, when the clearing of a throat sounded from behind them. He turned toward it, his good mood plummeting as he saw who waited there. The formidable woman stood in the doorway, her sandy hair pulled up into a tight bun, her body squeezed into a pencil skirt and fitted jacket, her golden eyes intent on his.

"Agent Lightwood, Herondale," she said, nodding her head in each of their direction when she said their name. "Agent Lightwood, may I speak to Agent Herondale alone please?"

Alec's brows rose and he hastily grabbed a gun off one of the racks. "Uh, yes, Ma'am." His gaze met Jace's, a spark of concern wrinkled his brow before Jace rolled his eyes and waved Alec off.

When the door closed behind Alec, Jace crossed his arms over his chest and turned back to the woman. "So, to what do I owe this honor, Mother?"

She scowled. "How many times do I have to tell you to address me as 'Ma'am' while we're at work?"

Jace huffed. "What the hell does it matter? No one else is here, and you _are_ my mother—unless that's changed since the last time I saw you."

"I don't understand this attitude. Your father and I didn't raise you to speak this way to anyone, least of all us."

"No, you didn't, since neither of you raised me in the first place. Your slew of nannies did that for you." Jace shifted on his feet. "Look, I'm supposed to be out on the field for training, so say whatever it is you came here to say."

She breathed in through her nose, her eyes narrowing. "I heard you've been given an early assignment."

"Yeah, so?"

"So?" She raised her brows. "I hope you're taking the assignment more seriously than that."

"Ah," Jace said, a sneer stretching over his lips. "So that's what this is about. You're afraid I won't take this seriously and embarrass you."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

Jace shook his head and turned toward the door. "Well, if we're finished here—"

"You are not going anywhere." His mother's voice echoed through the room.

Jace cringed slightly and froze, his fists clenching at his sides.

"This is a huge case, Agent. You cannot just flit through it like you do everything else. Valentine Morgenstern is a dangerous threat and the Agency cannot risk any screw-ups. I tried to talk them out of putting you on this case, but they seem to think you have what it takes to get it done. I hope they're right. The last thing we need is for you to get yourself killed, or worse."

Jace let out a disbelieving chuckle. "I'm glad there are worse things to you than my getting killed, _Ma'am_."

Her face pinched. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh really? You know what I'm thinking? Are you a mind reader now?" He narrowed his eyes. "I find it really funny and ironic that you come in here to scold me as a mother, yet, you have yet to say my name. To address me as your son. My name is _Jace_. Not, Agent. Not Herondale. Jace. Though I can see how you might forget that since you haven't acted like a mother my entire life." He hoisted his weapon onto his shoulder. "Make up your damn mind. Either you're my mother or you're my superior while we're here. You can't be both."

Her mouth dropped open, but Jace didn't stop to hear what she might have said. Reaching out, he wrenched open the door. Sunlight spilled into the room and momentarily blinded him with its brightness as he stepped out into the fresh air, letting the door slam shut behind him.

.o.O.o.

Clary bent to her side, the muscles in her legs and butt stretching uncomfortably. "Crap. Why does getting healthy have to be so painful?" She stood straight and extended her arms above her head before lowering herself to the other side.

"Quit complaining," Simon said from his position on the couch behind her. "You want to be sexy? You have to pay the price."

Clary glanced back, watching as he lifted a potato chip filled hand to his mouth and stuffed it full. Crumbs fell onto his shirt. She rolled her eyes. "Says the literal couch potato."

"What?" His eyes met hers. "I don't need that crap. I'm hot enough as it is." He stood and turned around like a model at a runway show. His jeans hung loose off his non-butt and his t-shirt was partially tucked in at the side. Untidy chunks of dark hair stuck up on one side of his head and his glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose.

Clary couldn't stifle the laugh that bubbled up into her throat. "Sure, and that's the real reason you haven't had a girlfriend in like, forever—you're too hot for them?"

He grinned and started dancing in fast jerky movements while singing_. _"I'm too sexy for my shirt. Too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it huuuurrrts."

Clary doubled over, clutching her side and nearly peeing herself.

Simon continued, undoubtedly noticing her effort to restrain her bladder, and wanting her to make a mess on the floor. He lived for stuff like that and was probably dying for something to tease her about. It had been a while since she'd given him any fodder. "I'm a model, you know what I mean, and I do my little turn on the catwalk. Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah. I shake my little tush on the catwalk." He waggled his butt and pranced back and forth in front of the couch, turning on the ball of his foot and strutting back toward her. He grabbed her arms and pulled her up, obviously wanting her to join in on his idiocy.

She rolled her eyes but indulged him. "I'm too sexy for my car. Too sexy for my car, too sexy by faaaaaar." She placed her hands on her hips and started swaying them dramatically as she took her own turn walking the "catwalk".

Simon laughed and joined her, both of them most likely looking like complete tools. They both shouted the next lyrics together. "And I'm too sexy for my hat. Too sexy for my hat, whatcha think about that?"

"Well, I can see living here won't be lacking in entertainment." Isabelle's voice reverberated from the hall near the doorway.

Clary spun around, her eyes falling on Isabelle's face, a smirk affixed on her lips. Beside her, stood a taller, dark-haired boy with bright blue eyes—very obviously related to her.

"Isabelle." Clary smoothed her hand over her hair and then went to straighten her shirt—until she realized she only wore a sports bra and a pair of low hanging yoga pants. She immediately wanted to rush from the room and dress herself properly. "Um, I thought you weren't coming until later?"

"I got done early." She stepped into the room, the guy at her side following. Turning to him, she gestured with her hand. "This is my brother, Alec."

Clary moved toward them and extended her hand. "Hi, Alec. I'm Clary."

Alec eyed her carefully for just a moment before accepting her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"And this is my cousin—" Isabelle half turned and her brows furrowed. "Where the hell is Jace?"

Alec looked behind them. "He was here a minute ago—"

"No, I can't. I'm busy today, Seb." A voice sounded from the doorway—a familiar voice that made Clary's skin tingle. She peered behind Isabelle.

Standing in the open door frame, with one hand against the wall and the other holding a cell phone to his ear, was Casanova himself. He looked down at the ground, a smirk pasted to his lips, tangled blond curls hanging in his face. He was the vision of hotness in dark jeans, a white t-shirt, boots, and a black leather jacket. Clary swallowed the drool threatening to pool in her mouth. She stared at him, knowing she probably looked like an idiot and was pretty sure her mouth was hanging open, but she'd never seen him outside of the dim lights of the club.

Just then, he glanced up, meeting her eyes, his mouth pulling at one corner, and she realized with horror that those lights didn't do him justice at all. He was not only hot, but gorgeous and delicious and so . . . bad. That glint in his eyes, the panty-dropping smirk . . . oh yeah, bad didn't even come close to describing it. Even without knowing him at all, she knew he was bad. The idea of this caused a flash of heat to shoot through her, and Clary mentally chastised herself for being so stupid and cliché. Plus, she had to remind herself, that this guy _knew_ he was hot and that made him less hot. Sort of. Okay, not really.

After a minute, he lowered the phone from his ear and pressed the off button, shoving the device into his pocket before stepping completely through the door. His grin grew as he came nearer to them. Clary could have sworn her entire body was on fire. She even kind of smelled smoke. _What the hell?_

"Well, if it isn't little Miss Spitfire." He stopped just behind Isabelle and Alec, his eyes never leaving Clary's. She wanted to move hers away, and she tried, but for some reason, she couldn't stop staring at him.

Isabelle's gaze flowed between them. "You two know each other?"

Clary opened her mouth to speak but no sound would come out.

Instead, Casanova answered. "She works at the club."

Finally, Clary was able to tear her eyes away and forced her voice out. "I walked in on him feeling up my co-worker in the supply room."

"Ah," Isabelle said, unsurprised. "Well, introductions are a moot point but I'll do it anyway. Clary, this is Jace. Jace, Clary."

Jace. Hot name for a hot guy. Damn it. Why couldn't he be named something like, Harold or Jeff or something less . . . attractive.

Clary held out her hand like she had for Alec, but this time, she kind of didn't want him to take it. She was slightly afraid of the reaction she might have if he touched her. Before she had the chance to rudely withdraw, he grabbed her hand. A warm zap traveled up her arm and then down her spine, causing her to shiver outwardly. Heat flooded her cheeks with the realization that they'd all seen her reaction. Jace's brow rose.

Clary immediately took her hand back and rubbed her palms over her arms. "Does anyone else feel a draft?" She lamely tried to cover. "It's cold in here."

Jace cocked his head to the side and eyed her, his gaze sliding down her body and back up. Just that simple movement made her feel dirty—in a good way. "Or perhaps your lack of clothing has something to do with it?"

Clary glanced down, remembering too late that she only wore a sports bra and yoga pants. Looking up, she met his eyes and narrowed hers. "I was working out. This is what I wear to work out."

"Do you work out often?"

"Every day at this time."

"Hmm." He nodded, looking bored. "Good to know."

Clary crossed her arms over her chest. "And why is that good to know?"

"Well, now I know there will be a half-naked girl here at this time if I ever feel the need to see one. So, as I said, good to know."

Clary opened her mouth, an avalanche of nastiness on her tongue ready to spew at him, when Isabelle grabbed her arm and pulled her further into the room. "So, what would be a good way to arrange my furniture in here? I have a couch and a chair. Do we want all that here?"

Clary managed to tear her gaze away from Jace's smirking face and concentrated on Isabelle. She had never in her life experienced such a visceral reaction to anyone. Her entire body hummed, and not in a sweet "oh-he's-cute" kind of way, but in a "Jesus-God-in-heaven-I-wish-he'd-take-my-clothes-off-and-back-me-up-against-the-wall" sort of way. Yeah, that bad. He was a cocky ass and he would use any indication of her attraction to him against her. She could feel it. Casanova Jace and his stupid grin were bad news. And if she valued her sanity and her collection of panties, she knew she had to stay far away from him.

.o.O.o.

An hour later, most of Isabelle's stuff had been unloaded from the truck and brought upstairs. Between Clary and Simon, they'd pretty much had the bare essentials, with Isabelle's additions, their apartment actually looked like a home. Comfy furniture, end tables, an actual kitchen set, and more appliances than Clary or Simon knew what to do with.

"Shoot," Isabelle swore as she dug through one of the boxes piled near the door.

"What?" Clary asked.

"I think," she pawed through the contents a little more, "the rest of the screws for the shelving unit are in another box still in the truck." She pulled her phone out of her pocket and pushed the number two on the speed dial. "Jace is down there, I'll ask him to bring it up."

Somewhere in the kitchen, the theme song of the wicked witch of the west played. Clary furrowed her brow as Isabelle groaned.

"He left his phone up here." Isabelle sighed and got to her feet.

Clary followed. "Wait. He has your ringtone set as the wicked witch of the west?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but listen to what I have for him." She fiddled with her phone for a moment and then held it out to Clary. The sounds of Paula Abdul's hit _Cold Hearted Snake_ played from the tiny speaker.

Clary snickered, thinking the song totally appropriate. "Don't you two like each other?"

Isabelle frowned. "Why would you say that?"

Clary shrugged. "I don't know, you seem to like to goad each other a lot and, well, those ringtones aren't exactly flattering."

"Oh." Isabelle laughed. "No, that's all in good fun. Jace is, well, Jace. And yeah, it's entertaining trying to get on each other's nerves. We like each other just fine."

"Hmm," Clary said. "Listen, just tell me which box it's in and I'll go get it." She walked to the door and grabbed her coat from the hook next to it.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Clary slipped the jacket on and pulled her hair out from inside before zipping it up. "You're busy and I'm standing around feeling pretty useless. I may as well do something helpful."

"Okay." Isabelle laughed. "It's in a small one labeled 'living room'."

Clary rolled her eyes. "That's helpful."

"Sorry. I guess I wasn't too specific when labeling boxes."

"It's all right. I'll find it."

"Thanks."

Clary waved her off as she stepped through the door and set out to the stairs near the end of the hall. Making her way down, she passed a couple of neighbors, saying a polite hello to each she encountered. Mrs. Harvey's dog barked and tried to nip at her heels as she passed. She and Simon hadn't been there long, but so far, everyone seemed pretty nice.

Once she stepped outside, a frigid wind blew her back and she shivered, gathering her jacket tighter around her.

The truck sat not too far away, the back end open and an obvious shuffling coming from inside. Clary walked to it, starting up the ramp, but freezing in her steps at the sight that greeted her. Jace stood near the back, lifting a few heavier boxes and moving them to the side, trying to get to the ones in the back. At some point, he'd removed his jacket—which lay draped over one of the stacks of boxes—and shirt, and had proceeded to tuck it into the back of his jeans. Bold, black lines stretched and interwove all the way up one arm, engulfing his shoulder, continuing on down his back and disappearing around his side. The design was intricate and stunning, some sort of tribal art Clary didn't recognize. It didn't seem to have an obvious form but was just a series of interlacing lines and knots, some thick, some thin.

After a moment, Jace turned toward her, revealing the rest of the design which snaked across the upper portion of his pec and curled down at his collarbone.

"Like what you see?" He gestured to the very bare and very delicious nakedness of his tattooed torso. And yes, Clary liked, she liked a lot.

Clary swallowed to gather her wits. "Actually, I was just wondering whether or not you'd like to die at an early age from pneumonia. I mean, it's like forty degrees out here and you're practically naked."

He puckered his lips and one corner of his mouth pulled up into a grin. Setting down the box he had in his hands, he stalked toward her. "It wouldn't take much to make that completely instead of practically, Spitfire."

Clary's body nearly exploded in flames. She wouldn't even pretend to deny that this guy was a vision of delectability, and if she was any sort of bad girl, she'd probably take him up on that offer in the back of this very truck, onlookers be damned. Yes, he was a serious douchebag, but for some disgustingly unexplainable reason, this made him all that much more alluring—that and the fact that his delicious body made her tingle in all the right places. Places she didn't even know she had let alone that they were able to tingle.

Swallowing back her obvious attraction, and her desire to knock herself in the head for even entertaining the idea of throwing him down and doing naughty, naughty things to him, she stared, giving him her best disinterested look. "No. I'm sure it wouldn't, what with you being a huge man-whore and all." She turned to the pile of boxes near the side of the truck, picking through until she found a smaller one labeled "living room". Turning back, she saw him studying her, a cocky smirk plastered on his face. "What?"

He tilted his head to the side and stepped forward until he stood right in front of her. Reaching out, he traced a finger over her cheek. "Did you know that when a woman is aroused, not only do her cheeks turn this delicious shade of pink, but so does her chest and—"

"If you finish that sentence, I may just have to hurt you."

"Promises, promises." He sighed dramatically, dropped his hand, and turned back to the stack of boxes.

Clary watched him, knowing she should turn away before he caught her staring again. But she couldn't help looking. The way his muscles flexed under the swirls of black ink made her knees feel like jello. Jesus.

"Are you going to keep staring or are you going to help?" he asked without turning around.

"I didn't come out here to help you. I came to get this box." She jiggled the one she held.

He glanced back and shrugged before turning around to what he'd been doing before Clary had interrupted.

Clary rolled her eyes and walked to the back of the truck, setting her box down and helping him move a few larger boxes. She grabbed a couple of blankets from behind and stacked them on top of the smaller box she'd already put aside. "I was not staring."

"Sure you weren't."

Clary thrust her hands on her hips and looked over to him. "It would do you well to tame your ego just a little. You're not God's gift."

He chuckled and leaned toward her. "She that doth protest too much . . ."

Clary scowled and shoved him away from her. "Shut up." She glanced behind them to the opening of the truck and saw a group of five girls huddled near the back end on the sidewalk, whispering and giggling while sneaking peeks back at them. Clary lifted her chin in their direction. "Your fan club awaits."

He turned to look and frowned before glancing back at Clary. "They're like fourteen."

"Doesn't matter." Clary pulled against another box, nearly toppling it over on herself before Jace caught and righted it once more. "Even fourteen-year-olds are going to notice a hot, tattooed guy standing practically naked out in the open."

He looked at her and smirked. "Spitfire, did you just admit to me that you think I'm hot?"

She rolled her eyes and met his, realizing with mortification, that yes, she really did just admit that. "Please, don't even play like you didn't think that was obvious."

He shrugged. "You are kind of easy to read. Not that I blame you for thinking it."

Another case of giggles sounded from the street. Jace groaned and reached behind him, grasping his shirt and pulling it over his head.

Clary gaped at him in surprise, and a slight bit of disappointment. "Don't tell me you're uncomfortable being ogled?"

He scowled. "No, I'm not opposed to being 'ogled'. I just prefer it to be by someone who is of legal age to do said ogling. That," he peered back at the girls, causing another round of giggles to which Clary couldn't help chuckling at, "well, that's just icky."

"Icky?"

"Yes." He nodded once. "Icky."

Clary pinched her lips together, silent laughter building in her chest.

Jace looked at her, his brows furrowing. "What?"

Clary shook her head, her eyes stinging.

"What?" he demanded.

Finally, she couldn't hold it in any longer and she doubled over, laughing so hard tears spilled over her cheeks.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Clary sucked in a breath. "You . . . you said . . . you said . . . _icky_." She burst out laughing once more.

"So?"

"So?" she repeated, her chest hurting and fits of giggles still escaping. "You, Mr. I'm-all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips-macho-man used a girly word like icky."

He chuckled. "Well, what word am I_ supposed_ to use to describe reverse pedophilia?"

Clary laughed harder again. "I don't know . . . gross, disgusting, sick? Not . . . not . . . _icky_." She bent over struggling to catch her breath, but when she stood back up her head spun and she rocked back, her foot catching the edge of a box. Pitching backward, she gasped and Jace reached out, catching her arm before she fell over completely. The same jolt she felt earlier shot through her, though this time she managed to hold the shiver back.

He pulled her upright, keeping his hand around her arm until she maintained her balance.

"Thanks," she said. "That would have been embarrassing."

"Yeah, it would've." He grinned as he slipped his arms back into his jacket, bent down and picked up two of the boxes at his feet. "I should've let you fall for making fun of me like that. But don't worry; I'll make it up to you."

"Oh really?" Clary raised a brow.

"Without a doubt."

Clary grabbed her box and the blankets, and the two of them started back toward the building. Just as they approached the door, a voice from behind them caused Clary to stop in her tracks.

"You really move fast don't you, little Sis? Only a month out of Daddy's sight and you're already shacking up."

Clary turned, her gaze landing on the sneering face of her brother. She narrowed her eyes. "Nice to see you, too, Jonathan. What are you doing here? Isn't it against your religion or something to set foot in this neighborhood?"

"Cute, Sis. Real cute." Jonathan reached out and ruffled Clary's hair. She juggled the box enough to reach up and shove his hand away.

"Seriously, what do you want?"

"Do I need a reason to come check up on you?"

"Not if we'd been a normal family who actually cared about one another."

Jonathan sighed and pushed a hand up into his white-blonde hair. "Father asked me to come invite you to dinner tonight."

Clary rolled her eyes. "He can't pick up a phone?"

"I don't know, Clary." Jonathan shoved his hands in his suit pants pockets. "He just asked me to come and I came."

"Oh right, because you're his little lackey, I remember." She went to turn away. "Tell him no thanks."

Jonathan reached out and grabbed her arm, twisting her around so quickly she lost grip on the box she held and it tumbled to the ground. He squeezed her through the fabric of her jacket and jerked her toward him. Clary sucked in an involuntary breath. Before she had a chance to say or do anything, Jonathan's arm was wrenched away from her, and Jace stood to her side, his fingers wrapped around Jonathan's forearm.

"What the hell?" Jonathan said, trying to pull his arm away, but Jace held tight. "Get your damn hands off me."

Jace made no move to release Jonathan. "Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?"

"Are you serious?"

Jace raised his brows. "Don't I look serious?"

Jonathan stepped forward until he stood extremely close to Jace, their noses almost touching. "I can do whatever I want, whenever I want to her. She's my sister."

"Why don't you just go ahead and try? See how many fingers you have left when you're done."

Jonathan's brows rose. "Are you threatening me?"

Jace shook his head. "I don't stoop to threats. What I say is fact. You grab her like that again, and you will walk away with less appendages than you came here with."

Clary had heard enough. She stepped between them, a palm to each chest, and pushed them apart. "That's just about enough testosterone for tonight boys." She met Jace's gaze and after a long moment of staring at Jonathan, he threw Jonathan's arm back at him and stepped back, his hands raised in front of him. She turned to Jonathan. "Tell Dad I'll call him, but I have to work tonight."

Jonathan grimaced in disgust. "Clary, you're the daughter of one of the most prestigious lawyers in the city. Why do you feel the need to continuously embarrass the family with your childish independent streak? Grow the hell up and start living like you give a damn about the rest of us."

"I thought having a job and supporting myself was growing up, Jonathan? Not all of us can be Daddy's pet and live off him for the rest of our lives."

Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he took a step forward before his gaze shot to Jace and he thought better of what he was about to do. He stopped. "Father said he needs to speak with you, so make sure you call." He turned on his heel and stalked up the block, climbing into a black sedan with tinted windows.

"Whatever," Clary muttered under her breath as she watched the car pull away. Turning back around, her eyes fell on Jace. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You didn't have to do that. I can handle myself."

He shook his head and turned away. "Yeah, okay."

Clary felt a flash of anger spike in her veins at his sarcastic tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jace froze, his shoulders tightening as he moved to face her. "Do you even think before you speak? I mean, ever?"

"He's my brother. I always talk to him like that." She narrowed her eyes. "Where do you get off telling me how to speak to him?"

He pointed in the direction Jonathan's car went. "He is twice your size and a guy, yet, you seem to have no problem thrusting your attitude out on him. Sure, with Aline it was sexy as hell and entertaining, but with him?" He shook his head. "I don't give a flying rat's ass if he's your brother, he grabbed you. If he decided to, he could hurt you. You're no match for him, but you seem intent on dissuading any help from anyone else."

"That's because I don't need your help. You did the same thing with Aline. Just because I'm small doesn't mean I can't take care of myself," she spat back.

Quicker than Clary could blink, Jace's hand shot out and grabbed her arm just as Jonathan had. "Try and get away," he said.

"What?"

"Try and pull your arm away."

"Why?"

Jace rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to prove a point, so quit with the inane questions and do it."

Clary scowled and tugged against his grip. It didn't budge. With determination, she pulled harder. Nothing. She let out an exasperated breath. "I can still knee you in the balls."

"Try it."

She raised one brow.

"Try it, Spitfire."

She shrugged and shook her head. "All right. They're your nuts." Quickly, she lifted her knee, not really trying to hurt him because it would be a shame to damage something that was probably pretty perfect under those jeans. But, she wouldn't have had to worry anyway because before she even got anywhere close to his man business, he had her pinned up against the side of the building. Her breath left her in a whoosh when her back hit the wall. His body pressed into her, keeping her locked tight against him.

"You see, Spitfire, we men are particularly attuned to what is happening in and around the vicinity of our junk. It's actually quite difficult for anyone to get a shot in—at least an accurate one. You may clip or graze us and while that would suck, it would only fuel our anger and make us crankier."

As he spoke, Clary became very aware of the way he touched her, not only where his body was leaning against hers, but where his hands had found purchase. One still grasped her wrist and held it against the brick wall next to her head, the other clutched at her hip, keeping her flush against the cold building. His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath flowing across her cheeks.

"So, you see the predicament you're in now my over-confident, feisty, little Spitfire? You're trapped between me and this hard assed building. There's nowhere for you to go. No way for you to retaliate. I can have my way with you. Whether my intentions are pleasure or pain." His nose grazed her jaw, his whispers dancing along her collarbone. "Just remember that the next time you take on someone so much larger than you. I won't always be there to come to your rescue."

"I can take care of myself," she said, shoving her one free hand feebly against his chest. "I don't need to be rescued." Her voice came out low and breathless.

He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers. "Don't you?"

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*smooches*

And so it begins...

See ya next time!


	5. Rolls Off the Tongue

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**4. Rolls off the Tongue**

I hope you have your fire extinguishers and cold showers ready. ;)

This chapter includes some Spanish phrases. I debated including the translations right in the text but decided against it because I thought that would look tacky. However, for those of you who don't know Spanish, the translations have been provided in the A/N at the bottom. I think the majority of it you'll get the gist of in context...but as for some, well, I'm not sure you'll actually care what's being said...hehe! A special thanks to niniadepapa for her expert Spanish help. ;)

_Chapter Songs: (links to these songs are on my profile. For some reason my player wouldn't let me upload)  
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_**Maneater – Nelly Furtado_

_**I Can Do Better – Avril Lavigne_

_**I Want You – Savage Garden_

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The scent of sweat hung heavy in the air while grunts and strained groans reverberated off the walls. Metal clanged against metal, ringing in Jace's ears as he placed the weights on the ends of the bar. Once satisfied he had enough, he lowered himself onto the bench and slid his body all the way to the top, his feet on the ground and the bar positioned over his chest. Alec stood at Jace's head, spotting just in case he needed help—which he wouldn't, he never did.

He grabbed the bar, his hands evenly spaced, fingers placed exactly along the grips, and lifted. After several sets of the bar lowering and thrusting forward with each exhaled breath, beads of sweat formed on his brow and a slow burn spread over his chest and through his biceps. It ached in a way that could only be described as satisfying. With one last push, Alec slipped his hands under the bar, helping to guide it back to its resting place.

Jace sat up, lifting the bottom of his black wife beater to wipe his face before switching positions with Alec. As Alec started to lift, Isabelle settled on the bench next to them, sitting on the edge and curling a dumbbell. "So, what happened yesterday?" she asked, her eyes intent on Jace.

He glanced up momentarily. "What are you talking about?"

"With Clary." She switched arms. "She looked kind of shaken when you came back upstairs."

"Oh." He lowered his gaze back down to Alec, placing his hands under the center of the bar when he saw him struggling to push it up. "Her brother showed up."

"Really?" Isabelle's brows shot up. "How did that go?"

"He's an ass." Alec finished his rep and Jace moved in between them, lowering himself to a squat. "He got a little . . . physical with her."

"Physical?" Alec asked, sitting up. "How so?"

Jace shrugged. "It wasn't much, he just grabbed her, but there was something . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know. Something about the way he did it and the look in his eyes . . ."

"What'd you do?" Isabelle peered at him.

Jace stood. "I told him to get his hands off her if he wanted to keep all his appendages."

"Smooth, Jace." Isabelle chuckled.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and stood, walking over to replace the dumbbells she'd used. "I bet she wasn't all that happy about your stepping in. She's pretty self-sufficient, that one." A smirk graced her lips when she turned around.

Jace narrowed his eyes. "I don't care whether she was happy or not. Like I'm going to sit by and watch a guy twice her size grab her like that? I may be an ass, but I'm not about to let that slide. You females and your feminist crap . . . Being independent and strong are one thing, but acting like you never need help or that you can handle everything on your own is just idiotic."

Isabelle stepped over to him, her chest almost flush with his. "Are you saying women are weak, Herondale?" The venom in her voice washed over Jace, ebbing and flowing across his skin in waves of prickling heat. "Because if you'd like me to prove it, I'll show you just how well a woman can hold her own against a man." She pressed her hand to his chest and pushed him back, hard.

Jace caught her wrist and grinned. "Anytime, Iz. You know I'm always up for proving you wrong, but we aren't talking about women with training. Clary is not you. She's not trained, and therefore does not have the advantages someone like you has."

"God, I so want to kick your ass right now."

Jace moved past her, walking backward toward the sparring room and beckoning her to him with his fingers. "Come on then, baby. Show me what you've got."

"Oh, this is so on," Isabelle said as she yanked her loose fitting tank top over her head and threw it to the floor, leaving herself dressed only in a sports bra and shorts. "You're going to feel like such a pansy when I get through with you."

"I highly doubt that."

She stalked through the doorway and followed him to the center of the mat. He turned to face her, not relieving his expression of the smirk for one second. If there was anything that distracted Isabelle it was arrogance. She couldn't stand it, and he was pretty damn good at it. Many would think his self-importance would be his downfall, but in fact, it was his strength. Because it was the attitude he most displayed, showed most often, his opponents thought him to think he was above or better than those he fought, but he thought no such thing. He was always ready, always aware, always mindful that the one he stood against could be hiding their strength just as he did. And that in turn made him the better fighter. The victor.

Jace didn't doubt Isabelle could hold her own in a fight against man or woman, but her anger and impatience were her weakness. Working beside her all these years had taught him that. All he had to do was wait for the right time, distract her with some douchebag comment and she'd go down. Luckily for her, this tidbit only seemed to be known to him and Alec. And luckily for him, she didn't know he knew.

They circled one another, her gait light and airy, his lithe and catlike. Her hands hung at her side, almost in a gesture of nonchalance, but Jace knew better. There was no argument that she was strong and flexible. Her training had made her smart and more than able. Jace wouldn't undervalue her.

She narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw before she struck. Her leg shot out, and she kicked high. He reached out and blocked it easily just inches from his head.

His smile grew wider. "I thought you said you wanted to kick my ass?"

"That's what I was aiming for."

Isabelle didn't hesitate to unleash a flurry of punches and kicks, to which any normal human being wouldn't have stood a chance. But to another skilled fighter, it proved a challenge, though not impossible. Jace blocked each strike and swipe, the blows reverberating through his forearms.

"Come on, Jace. Quit being such a baby and hit me back," she growled, her breath coming quickly and her movements frantic.

Jace blocked another pass at his head and one to his gut. "You know I don't hit girls, Isabelle. I wouldn't want to hurt your fragile girl self."

Isabelle let out a roar of frustration and Jace couldn't help the smirk that tweaked his lips. He had her now. She spun around, her hair flying behind her like a black, silken cape, and struck out with her foot. Jace reached out and grabbed her leg, twisting it and dropping her to the mat. Her back hit and she released a long gush of air as he grabbed her wrists with his hands and pinned them to the floor while his legs trapped hers.

He hovered over her, his face fixed into a victorious grin and hers into a scowl. "Now, what was that about you kicking my ass?" he asked.

"Get off me, Herondale." Her voice was strained.

"You didn't say the magic word."

"No, I mean it." She squeezed her eyes closed and a tear streaked down the side of her face.

Jace's face went cold and he quickly moved to his knees. "Hell, Iz." He frantically looked her over. "Where'd I hurt you?"

Isabelle sucked in a breath and a small smirk pulled at her mouth. Jace frowned but before he could comprehend what she was doing, Isabelle thrust her arm forward, the heel of her palm hitting him smack in the center of his chest. All the air whooshed from his lungs and he fell backward, sharp pain radiating from the point of impact. His breath caught and he choked against the tightening sensation.

Isabelle crawled over him and straddled his abdomen. She thrust her finger in his face and said, "Never underestimate me, or any other woman for that matter, again." Standing, she flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiled at him, and wiggled her fingers in his direction before turning and strutting out the door.

Jace dropped his head back down onto the mat, his chest still throbbing with pain where Isabelle had hit him. He seriously regretted showing her that move now.

A persistent vibrating came from his pocket, surprising him because he'd forgotten he still had his phone on him. He fished it out, hit the call button, and held it to his ear. Reaching a hand up and tangling it in his damp hair, he answered, "Herondale."

"Agent. This is Mr. Starkweather."

Jace heaved himself into a seated position. "What can I do for you?"

A sigh emanated from the other line followed by a few moments of silence. "Are you and the Lightwoods at the Academy?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. I need to speak to you, it's . . . urgent." Hodge's voice was strange and quiet.

Jace furrowed his brows and dropped his hand from his hair. "What's going on?"

"It's best if I speak to you face-to-face. Where are you?"

"At the gym." Jace stood. "Listen, if something's happened we should—"

"Nothing's happened, yet, Agent," Hodge interrupted. "But, I need to inform you of the latest developments if you are to effectively protect the girl."

Jace sucked in a breath and straightened his spine. "We'll be right there."

.o.O.o.

Clary closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of lips, hands, and body against her. It had been a while since she'd been in this position and found it rather enjoyable. Not that she and Raphael hadn't kissed and stuff before, but this level of make-out hadn't been reached yet. His hands gripped her hips and his mouth attacked her neck. Clary reached down and grabbed his face, pulling his lips to hers. He tasted faintly of cigarettes but more strongly of mint. She didn't really care for smoking, but his tongue felt good in her mouth so she overlooked it. The bed creaked beneath them and Clary suddenly felt self-conscious about Simon hearing them. Rolling her eyes, she told herself that was ridiculous and she should just forget about Simon and focus on the nice things happening in her room.

Raphael's hand slid down her outer thigh and his fingers teased along the edge of her work skirt. The crucifix hanging from the chain around his neck bumped against her collarbone. The sensation kept bringing her out of the moment, almost like a knocking on her conscience telling her she shouldn't be doing this. Why she had that feeling at all seemed stupid to her. They'd been dating for a few weeks at that point, so making out wasn't a far-fetched scenario. Clary ignored the nagging in the back of her mind and continued kissing him, her hands clutching the fabric of his shirt and her legs tightening around him.

His hand grasped at her hip while the other slipped under the fabric of her skirt and trailed up her thigh until his fingers hooked into the side of her panties. Clary's eyes popped open and she slapped her hand down on his.

He pulled away, his dark eyes meeting hers. "¿Qué pasa?"

Clary swallowed. "I'm, uh, it's a little soon for that. Don't you think?"

He grinned and swooped back in, taking her lips with his. "No." Moving away from her mouth, he nipped at her jaw and neck.

Clary pushed against his chest until he looked at her once more. "No? What do you mean no? I thought we agreed to take this slow?"

"_You_ agreed to take this _despacio_." He tapped her nose with his finger. "If I recall, I said nothing." He tried to kiss her again, his hand pulling against her grip under her skirt.

"Raphael." Clary gripped his shirt and tried to shove against him, but he didn't budge and continued kissing her neck. "Raph . . ." She pushed again. Still no movement. "Raphael, stop!"

He sighed and rocked back onto his knees. Clary scrambled up and off the bed, straightening her skirt in the process.

"Qué calientapollas," Raphael whispered under his breath.

"What?"

He glanced up at her, his eyes narrowed. "Nada."

"No me digas 'nada.'" Clary stepped forward and thrust her hands on her hips. "Did you just call me a cock tease?"

"No," he lied, his face turning red with the realization that she'd caught exactly what he'd said.

"Liar. You know I know Spanish, Asshat, and you just called me a cock tease!" She stalked toward the door and threw it open. "I think you should go."

He stood slowly from the bed, his hands out in front of him. "Come on, Clary. Can't we at least talk about this?"

"We've already talked about this, Raphael. Right after we got together. I told you how I felt and you've disregarded that."

"Dios . . ." He threw his hands up in the air and let them fall back to his thighs, as he ranted, slipping Spanish in with English during his tirade. "Well what do you expect, Clary? Estás siempre cambiando de opinión, pareces una veleta. First, you want it and then you don't? Soy un _hombre,_ not a damn faucet. You can't just turn me on and off at will and not expect . . . frustrarme un poco."

"First of all," she started, trying very hard to control her temper, "I didn't want _it_. We were kissing and making out. I never said I wanted to go farther than that. And second, when I told you to stop, you didn't. I had to practically shove you off me."

"I got carried away . . . un poquito." He ran a hand through his short, dark, hair. "It won't happen again. Te lo prometo, nena." His voice was low and seductive, but Clary wasn't falling for it.

"You promise?" she asked incredulously, shaking her head as she walked out the door, through the living room, and to the front door. "You're right about one thing though." He followed her. She pulled at the handle, opening to the hallway. "It won't happen again."

"Are you serious?" He looked at her, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're kicking me out? Because of this?"

"Yes, I am."

Simon appeared at the opening to the living room. "Everything all right?" He eyed them both carefully.

"Yep," Clary answered, her stare never leaving Raphael.

"Clary," Raphael's voice shook with anger. "If I walk out that door, no pienso volver."

Clary swept her arm toward the opening and stood her ground. Raphael narrowed his eyes and stalked past her, pausing for a moment just in front of her, shook his head, and stormed off into the hallway. Clary pushed the door shut behind him. She met Simon's "I told you so," gaze.

"Shut up," she said as she strode by him, falling into the soft cushions of the couch.

"Well, I did."

"Yeah, well, I tell you lots of things but then I don't rub it in your face later."

He turned to her, his brows furrowed and his mouth open. "Yes you do. You make it a point to."

Clary shook her head just as the front door opened and Isabelle walked in, dressed in warm up pants and a t-shirt, a gym bag thrown over her shoulder.

"Hey, guys," she said as she walked into the room, sat in the overstuffed chair, dropped the bag on the ground, and threw her feet up on the coffee table. "What's up?"

"Clary just kicked Raphael out on his ass," Simon said.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Simon . . ."

"What?"

She shook her head and slumped back into the cushions.

"Lover's spat?" Isabelle smiled knowingly.

"Hardly," Clary huffed. "He's gone now."

"What happened?"

Clary waved it off. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's just say, he's not going to be coming around anymore."

"Oh, too bad," Isabelle said, twisting a dark lock of hair around her finger. "I liked listening to him and his sexy Spanish."

Clary laughed. "I can give him your number if you want. Though, I'll warn you, he's pretty pushy in the physical department."

Isabelle waved her off and rose from her chair, strolling into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She leaned against the wall and looked at Clary thoughtfully. "You know, Jace told me about what happened yesterday with your brother."

Clary closed her eyes and pushed herself deeper into the cushions, causing the blanket draped across the back to slip off onto the floor. "Why would he tell you that? It was nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing." She crossed back into the room and sat on the couch next to Clary. "And he told me because I asked why you seemed so stressed when you came back up. I actually though he hit on you or something, and I was about ready to throw down with him."

Clary laughed. "No, he really didn't—though with him, I can see why you might think that. He sure is a flirt."

"You have no idea," Isabelle mumbled as she lifted the bottle to her lips, taking a sip and then setting it down on the coffee table. "But seriously, Clary. You shouldn't make light of what happened. Your brother—or any man for that matter—should never grab you like that. Maybe Jace was out of line, but . . ." she hesitated. "Do you actually know how to defend yourself?"

"You mean like, do I know how to fight or whatever?"

Isabelle waved her hand in front of her in a so-so motion. "Well, sort of. More so like self-defense."

"Um, no?"

"Clary? Fighting?" Simon slapped his leg and threw his head back, a loud guffaw echoing throughout the space. "Now, _that's_ hilarious!"

Clary elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a death glare. He shrank back into the couch.

Isabelle eyed Clary carefully. "Maybe you should learn."

Clary sighed. "I don't have enough money to take another class. I'm strapped as it is."

"Well . . ." She tapped her chin and then grimaced. "I could teach you myself, but I think you need a guy to do it. I mean, it's different sparring against a girl than a guy. Like today I sparred with Jace and—"

"Wait." Clary held her hand up. "You fought with Jace?"

"Sure." Isabelle shrugged. "We've done that since we were kids. Our parents always thought it important to learn how to defend ourselves."

"Do you fight with Alec too?"

"It's called sparring, Clary" Isabelle rolled her eyes. "And yes, but," she lowered her voice, "don't tell my brother this, but I prefer Jace because it feels so damn good when I take his cocky ass down."

Clary couldn't help the laugh that escaped from her mouth. "Yeah, I could see that. Does that happen very often?"

"No." Isabelle sighed. "But I got him good today." She gave herself a fist pump. "The problem with sparring Jace is that he _is_ really good. Better than any I've ever seen—" She tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. "Hmm . . ."

"What?" Clary asked, her cheeks heating under Isabelle's scrutiny.

"Well, you like Jace, right?"

Clary's mouth dropped open. "Well—I . . . don't . . . um . . ."

"Not like that!" Isabelle laughed. "I mean, you seem to get along with him, right?"

"I don't know if you would consider what we do 'getting along' but I don't want to stab him in the eye with a fork—often."

"I bet he'd help you."

"What?" Clary nearly flew out of her seat at the suggestion.

"Think about it." Isabelle scooted forward. "It's obvious you don't like people stepping in and 'protecting' you, but believe me, Jace won't ever get that. He's seen your brother go off on you and now he'll be paying close attention. That's just how he is. But, if you ask him to help you learn to defend yourself, he'll feel like he's still watching out for you and won't piss you off by acting like the hero."

"I don't know . . ." Clary pondered Isabelle's idea. Not only would it get Jace to stop trying to be her savior but it would also enable her to see more of him. What? Where the hell did that come from? She sighed. "Maybe . . . I really don't want him to think he needs to keep watch over me all the time. I really should apologize for going all crazy on him yesterday, though."

"Oh, don't worry about that. He doesn't care."

"No." Clary shook her head and stood. "I acted like a baby. He didn't know I wouldn't like it. I should have just explained that instead of going off on him."

"Whatever." Isabelle shrugged her shoulders and leaned back. "He's upstairs if you want to talk to him."

Clary's heart gave a little jump and she mentally scolded herself for her stupidity. He was just a guy. Just a cocky guy. Just a cocky, _hot_ guy. Nothing she hadn't been around before, so, her body could stop trying to act all freaky.

Isabelle did have a point. Clary hated, with the passion of a thousand fiery hells, when people treated her like she couldn't take care of herself. It was a pride thing, she knew this. And was probably more than a little bit connected to how often her father and brother told her she couldn't do this or that because of her size. But she'd acted like a witch to Jace about it. He couldn't have known how entirely she hated that, so her reaction had been wrong. She really should explain, and figured it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to learn some self defense tactics. And like Isabelle said, having a man show her _would_ probably be best. Also, she could stare at his yummy manliness the whole time, which was a huge plus. "Okay, maybe I will." She grabbed her bag from the counter and started toward the door. "I have to work so I'll just leave right after I talk to him."

"'Kay," Isabelle called, sounding pretty pleased with herself. Clary rolled her eyes.

"See ya," Simon said.

Clary walked out into the hall and took in a deep breath. Why did she feel so nervous? Maybe because she knew how Jace seemed to affect her by just breathing, and was afraid of how she might react if she was alone with him. Luckily, Alec lived with him so she wouldn't have to be. With that confidence, she climbed the stairs to the next floor, her feet carrying her directly to the door she knew was his from a conversation with Isabelle the day before.

After another breath, she raised her hand and rapped on the door. She listened intently for movement from inside, but heard nothing. After a few harder pounds, she pushed the doorbell next to the frame three times before she finally heard footsteps nearing where she stood. Her breath hitched and she felt her cheeks heat. _Stop it!_ She scolded herself silently.

The sound of the dead bolt turning and the rattle of the knob reached her ears just as the door swung open. Every drop of breath in Clary's body left her at the site before her. Jace stood in the doorway, his face fixed into an expression of surprise. Clary felt her eyes widen and stare ashamedly at him. Drops of water fell from his soaked hair, over his face, and down the expanse of his bare, ink-laced torso, its trail only stopping at the white towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist and clutched in his fist.

"Clary?"

"Oh, Jesus." She inhaled sharply and raised her hands to her eyes. "Um, you . . . you're . . . hell . . . you're naked!"

"I am not," he said indignantly. "I'm wearing a towel."

She kept her hands over her eyes though she wanted to peek badly. "But you are under that!"

"And so are you under your clothes."

"That's not the same." She peeked through her fingers, and had to quickly cover them once more before she combusted. "I . . . I want to, um, talk to you . . . for a second. Can I . . . God, can you get dressed? Please?"

He chuckled. "Fine. But you're going to have to open your eyes to come in. I'm not a seeing-eye dog, you know." His voice retreated as he did.

Clary took in a deep breath, opened her eyes cautiously, and walked into his apartment, shutting the door behind her. He'd already left the main area which helped Clary breathe a little easier. The sound of drawers being opened in the room just off the living room drew her attention, and her vision caught a glimpse of the side of the most perfect naked ass in the entire world.

She gasped and turned away immediately, although she wanted nothing more than to have a full view and to maybe take a picture for future reference. Never in her life had she seen an ass so flawless. Never. Not on a movie star or model or . . . anywhere. And she hadn't even seen the whole thing! She took in several deep breaths, trying to calm herself before she did something embarrassing like hyperventilate. It was just an ass, right? A naked, bronzed, perfectly flawless, manly ass. No big deal. Not like she hadn't seen one before. It was nothing special, she told herself. A lie. A horrendous, big, fat, hairy lie.

"There. I'm dressed. Happy now?"

_No._

Clary turned slowly, finding him telling the truth as he stood in front of her, wearing a pair of jeans, a gray short-sleeved t-shirt and no socks. His hair was still wet, though it looked like he'd at least run a towel over it.

"Yes. Thank you," she lied again, wondering if lying to herself could become pathologic. She made a mental note to Google that later.

He crossed his arms over his chest and peered at her. "So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Yesterday."

He rolled his eyes. "Again? I thought we already hashed this out. You don't like being rescued. I got it."

Clary felt a spark of anger ignite in her once more, but she fought with everything she had to snuff it out. "No, I don't, but I realize you didn't know that, so I wanted to apologize for getting so pissy about it."

His brows rose and a sly grin pulled at his lips. "Really?"

Now it was Clary's turn to roll her eyes. "Yes, and you don't have to be so smug about it either." She mimicked his stance by crossing her arms over her chest. "No, I don't like feeling like I need anyone to take care of me. I've spent enough of my life having a father and a brother always sticking their noses in my business and I don't need you to do it too. But," she paused to take in a breath and meet his gaze, "it was rude of me to go off on you. I know you were just trying to help."

"Uh huh," he said, the smile still not leaving his face. She kind of wanted to slap it off him.

"Yes, and, well, I was talking to Isabelle and she mentioned maybe it would be good for me to learn some self-defense. You know, so I can defend myself better."

"She did, did she?" He took a couple of steps toward her, narrowing the gap between them significantly.

Clary swallowed and nodded. "She also suggested I, um, ask you to show me a few things."

He raised a brow but didn't say a word.

"She—she said you were really good and that it would benefit me to learn from a guy to, you know, figure out their weaknesses and stuff."

He kept moving toward her, his proximity making her nervous.

"So," she paused, "what do you think?"

He cocked his head to the side and ran his fingers over his jaw. Clary wished they were her fingers. "Wouldn't your Latin lover be upset with you spending so much time with another guy?"

Clary scowled, but inside her heart soared when he said, "spending so much time." "He's not my 'lover' . . . anymore." She looked down and added quietly. "He never was—actually."

Jace peered at her, one brow raised. "Really?"

"Really." She nodded. "I think I just liked when he talked to me in Spanish." Her cheeks heated at the admission.

"Uh huh." Jace looked up at her under his lashes and gave her a slight grin. "So, then tell me something, Spitfire." He leaned in close to her, his mouth at her ear and his hot breath fanning against the skin of her neck. "¿Es el idioma lo que te pone? ¿O el modo en que las palabras salen de su boca?"

The affect was immediate. A tremor rumbled through her and Clary's knees turned to jello, her heart thrumming in her chest. She fought the urge to close her eyes and let his words and voice wash over her and completely demolish her self-control. But, God, if she didn't want to hear them cross his lips again. "What?"

Clary felt his mouth curve up into a smile against her ear. She couldn't hold back the shiver that shook her, the current following along her spine and shooting out to every point in her body.

"I said . . ." he started but Clary interrupted.

"I know what you said." Her voice came out sounding breathy and her cheeks felt as though they were on fire. "I just . . . say something else," she whispered, knowing it was oh so bad to let him get to her this way, but damn it if it wasn't hot as sin.

He chuckled. "Is it just the Spanish? Because, baby, puedo hablarte en el idioma que quieras siempre que te sonrojes así."

Clary's legs buckled slightly and Jace grabbed her waist, his fingers digging into her skin in the most delicious way, but even her obvious distress didn't stop his verbal assault.

"¿Español?" He moved his mouth from her ear and trailed down her jaw, speaking just centimeters from her skin. "Français? Italiano? Deutsch? Dime, Spitfire."

She sucked in a breath and turned her face toward him. His eyes met hers, melted gold swirling in a cauldron of desire. And Jesus, did she want to jump in. "You're a very bad boy," she said, shakily.

"Mmm," was all he said as he stepped closer her, the heat from his body flowing into her and making her heart race faster. "And you think this is something I'm not aware of?"

"No, I think you're very aware and that you use it to draw unsuspecting, sweet girls into your evil web."

"Is that so?" He reached up and swept a stray lock away from the side of her face before leaning into her, his mouth hovering so close she could feel the nearness of it against her own. "And what about you, Clary? Are you one of those unsuspecting, sweet girls?"

She couldn't breathe. She literally couldn't breathe through the burning in her chest. Her eyes lowered to his lips. Plump, pouty, deliciously red lips. God, she wanted to taste them, to take them with her own and cover them with her essence, claiming them right then and there.

"No," she breathed. "I'm not unsuspecting and I'm certainly not sweet." She reached down and placed her palms flat against the wall behind her, desperately trying to hold on to the last shred of her restraint. Her fingers curled into the plaster.

He studied her face, his eyes squinting and the edges of his mouth curving up. "Somehow, I don't doubt that in the least."

Clary gripped the wall harder, her mind scrambling with her need to lick him and the common sense that told her she needed to distance herself now before she did something totally stupid and embarrassing—like said lick. Luckily, the opening of the door saved her from herself. Jace stepped back, his hand falling from her waist as the two of them turned toward the entrance. Alec's dark head poked in, his eyes on the floor as he stepped through. Clary swallowed against all the hormonal upset flaring through her and the strange mixture of relief and irritation that it had been interrupted.

Alec glanced up, his brows furrowing as he took them in.

Jace leaned into the wall behind him and across from Clary. "What're you doing back? I thought you had class until six?"

Alec gave him a dumb look. "It's almost seven."

Clary gasped. "Seven?" She pulled her wrist up and looked at her watch. "Damn it, I'm gonna be late for work. Magnus is going to fire me!" She fled toward the door, hitching her bag up over her shoulder.

"Clary, wait," Jace said.

She turned around just as he held up a finger and jogged into his room, coming back out with a pair of socks and boots. He plopped down on the couch and hastily put them on. "You'll never make it on time taking the subway." Once finished, he stood and moved over to her, grabbing his jacket from the hook behind the door. "I'll give you a ride."

Her face flushed. "You don't have to do that. I'll . . . I'll deal with Magnus."

"Don't be stupid." He placed a hand on the small of her back and pushed her out the open door. "It's not like I wasn't going there tonight anyway."

Clary hesitated, thinking it was probably not wise spending any more time with him than she absolutely needed to at the moment, but she really didn't want to lose her job either. "Fine," she relented. Turning to Alec, she waved. "Thanks, Alec. You may have just saved my job."

He shrugged and looked down at the floor.

"Come on." Jace grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the stairs. They took them two at a time, never slowing or speaking until they burst through the doors on the ground floor out into the smog filled evening.

Jace walked toward the small alley at the side of the building.

Clary peered at him in confusion. "Wait . . . I thought you were giving me a ride? Where's your car?"

He laughed and turned to look at her. "I don't have a car."

Clary started to ask him how he planned on giving her a ride when her eyes fell on the gleaming black bike. "Oh," she said, her eyes widening.

Jace stepped up to it, removed the helmet from the back and handed it to her. She took it. "What about you?"

"Well, let's just hope we don't crash. It'd be a shame to mess up this pretty face."

She swallowed and looked down at the black helmet in her hands. With a deep breath, she pulled it over her head and clasped the strap under her chin. Looking back up, she caught his stare. "What?"

Jace bit his lip and after a moment, nodded. "I like it." Swinging one leg over the bike, he twisted his hand and kicked it to life. "Come on, Spitfire." He held his hand out to her.

Hesitantly, she moved toward him. "I've never ridden one of these before," she said, nervousness and excitement vibrating through her.

"Well, then I'm honored to have the privilege of popping your motorcycle riding cherry."

Clary scowled and grabbed his hand. "You're an ass."

He chuckled as he pulled her closer and she swung her leg over the back, trying hard not to flash him a look of her panties in the process, and then sat behind him. Her thighs clung to him and her feet settled on the foot rests.

"Hold on," he said as he revved the engine once more.

Clary reached forward and gripped the sides of his jacket in her fists.

He turned around and frowned. "I'm not gonna bite, Spitfire." His hands grabbed hers and pulled them tightly around him, dragging her chest flush against his back. "There. Now, don't let go."

With one more rev, the bike shot forward out of the alley and into the street. Wind rushed past Clary's face and stung her eyes but she couldn't help the smile stretching over her lips. As they weaved in and out of traffic, swerving around vehicles and pedestrians, Clary watched the scenery rush by. She felt so free, so alive in a way she hadn't before. The danger of being on the back of that bike, clutching an even more dangerous boy, was exciting and sexy as hell.

She tightened her grip around him and buried her face into his back, taking in the scent of leather and spice and danger and man. The leather of his jacket warmed under her hands, but it was the feel of him underneath it that held her attention. Firm, strong, masculine. It was good. So incredibly good.

Buildings and lights and people blurred together, much like how they did on the subway. But, they somehow felt more real like this. Maybe it was because there was nothing between her and them. No train, other passengers, no windows, just the air they shared. It was an exhilarating experience.

To her dismay, the ride didn't last nearly long enough. She soon found herself in the alley next to the club. A sigh escaped her chest as Jace climbed off and turned around to help her.

"You like that?" He grinned, holding his hand out to her.

"Yes." She nodded, taking his offering and sliding off the bike, then handing him the helmet. "It was awesome. Though, I'm not sure how we got here alive. You're crazy. I could never maneuver around traffic like that."

"Probably not, but you could learn." He secured the helmet to the bike and moved next to her.

She turned and started toward the front of the club. "Oh yeah? Are you gonna teach me?"

"Jesus, what am I now, your go-to guy for everything you need to learn?"

She shrugged. "What else have you got to do? Seems to me like all you do now is hang out at the club."

"Oh, how you downplay the importance of social networking."

"Really, Jace?" She rolled her eyes. "Is that what you call social networking? Making out with random hos in the back room?"

He laughed. "Is that really all you think I do?"

"It's all I've seen you do," she said.

"Hmm." He looked down at the grime-covered pavement as they walked, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Maybe your opinion would change if you knew me."

When they reached the end of the alley, she stopped and glanced up at him. He paused as well and met her gaze.

"Maybe it would," she said quietly. "Tell you what. I'll push aside my preconceived notions about you if you agree to help me out—and teach me to ride. Deal?" She held out her hand toward him.

He furrowed his brows, studying her face carefully. "That doesn't feel very evenly distributed if you ask me."

Clary swallowed, keeping her gaze firmly locked on his, the intensity of his stare pulling her in deeper and deeper. "So what would make it even then?"

Before he had a chance to respond, another voice broke into their little bubble. "Clarissa Morgenstern, may I have a word with you—now?"

Clary froze and her eyes closed. She didn't even need to turn around to know what she would find. The voice and inflection were enough to tell her everything she needed to know.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, meeting Jace's once more and seeing the concern and curiosity etched into his brow, before slowly turning to face the one person she dreaded seeing the most. Leaning up against a black sedan, hair gleaming silver in the fading sunlight, a starched black suit, white shirt, and a fat, black tie adorning his lanky frame, was her father.

He held his hands clasped in front of him, stern lines carved into his forehead. "You did not call, Clarissa. I gave explicit instructions for you to call or come." He straightened up and stepped toward her. "Is there a reason why you disobeyed my instructions?"

_Damn it_, Clary thought to herself. And just when the day was starting to look up.

* * *

_Yes, a cliffy. I cannot help my love of them. :P_

_Also, some of you will have questions after this chapter, I realize this. Forgive me if I don't answer all of them. Some questions are SUPPOSED to be left for discovery later. ;) Just know that, everything happening here has a reason..._

_Now, I must correct a wrong I have made that makes me feel like a total douche. I've forgotten to thank my beta for her awesome work! I know it takes her quite a while to edit this mess and I love her dearly for it. I'm also quite positive I make her blush repeatedly as she reads this train-wreck of sexual tension and innuendos. So for that, I must humbly bow to her. LLWB (Lightlacedwithbeauty), you know I love you, right? *tons of smooches and DJ speaking Spanish in your ear*_

_'til next time…xoxoxo ~ddpjclaf_

**Translations:**

_Qué pasa?_ – What's wrong?

_Despacio_ - slow

_Qué calientapoyas_ – such a cock tease

_Nada_ - nothing

_No me digas 'nada.'_ – Don't tell me 'nothing'.

_Dios_ - God

_Estás siempre cambiando de opinión, pareces una veleta._ - You're always so hot and cold.

_Soy un_ _hombre – _I'm a man

_frustrarme un poco_ – to frustrate me a little

_un poquito_ – a little

_Te lo prometo, nena._ – I promise, baby

_no pienso volver_ – I won't come back.

_¿Es el idioma lo que te pone? ¿O el modo en que las palabras salen de su boca?_ - Is it the language that turns you on, or just the way the words roll off the tongue/mouth?

_puedo hablarte en el idioma que quieras siempre que te sonrojes así._ - I can speak to you in any language you want as long as you continue to blush like that.

¿Español? Français? Italiano? Deutsch? Dime, Spitfire. – Spanish? French? Italian? German? Tell me, Spitfire.


	6. Teach Me

5. Teach Me

_Chapter Songs: (Mixpod is working again...woot!)  
_

_**Uprising – Muse _

_**Don't Trust Me – 3Oh!3_

_**So Contagious – Acceptance_

_

* * *

_

The cacophony of the busy street faded away as Jace laid eyes on Valentine Morgenstern in the flesh for the very first time. From the amount of ominous words and inflection whenever anyone mentioned his name, Jace expected something more foreboding, large, fear inducing. Instead, before him stood a man no taller than himself and a hell of a lot skinnier. There was no outward definition of strength visible. He looked, on the surface, to be just like any other businessman one could encounter on the street. Same stiff, pretentious posture, same smooth, uncalloused hands, and same stern "I-know-everything-so-don't-try-to-school-me" look on his face. To the untrained and unobservant, he looked harmless. But Jace saw the threat plainly in the recesses of his black eyes.

Behind the dark pools, he saw the absence of conscience. The ability to destroy life, whether it be by death or other means, without further thought. Thinking back, he'd noticed a glimmer of that in the eyes of his son as well. Jace's fists clenched at his sides as he tried to hold back his instinct to push Clary behind him. Not only because he felt the overwhelming need to protect her from this man, but because he wasn't supposed to even know who he was, let alone that he was dangerous. But that didn't mean he wasn't keeping careful watch.

His eyes locked on Valentine's. The man gave no hint as to his feelings toward Jace being there, he just simply stared back. Black meeting gold across the space between them. Out of the corner of his vision, Jace saw Clary fidget and then step forward. He wanted to reach out and draw her back, but he kept his hands firmly fixed to his sides.

Clary sighed. "Sorry, Dad, I forgot."

Jace cringed. Hearing her call him "Dad" was like a knife slicing through his skin. The thought that this man had any part in creating this girl made Jace sick. He knew, without even the slightest doubt, that Clary had no idea what unspeakable things her father had done—or had allowed to be done. For all intents and purposes, Valentine kept his hands clean, but he was instrumental in ordering and setting up many unsavory acts.

Valentine's gaze flickered between Clary and Jace, his brows pinching together as he tried to figure out who Jace was. Knowing he was about to be dismissed, Jace reached into his pocket while moving forward. He leaned into Clary, his mouth at her ear while his eyes stayed on Valentine. Lifting his hand, he touched the back of her neck and the very edge of the collar of her jacket, slipping a small device under the fold.

"I'll be just inside," he whispered, trying to let her know she wasn't alone, but giving her the space she wanted, even though it went against all his instincts. As much as everything in him screamed to stay right there, he knew Valentine wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything out in the open like this. Even so, if he did, it wouldn't take Jace long to get there.

Clary glanced up at him, a small smirk on her lips. Nothing about the way she held herself, or the look in her eyes, suggested she felt intimidated in the least by her father. "Sure thing, Cass. Thanks for the ride."

He wanted to say something smartassy, but decided against it. Not because he gave a flip about her father standing there, but because he didn't feel like being an ass to her at the moment. Instead, he winked and walked toward the club. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure they weren't watching, he slipped into the shadowy doorway and retrieved the earpiece from his jacket pocket. After looking around for prying eyes, he placed it discreetly in his ear. It was small and fit just so it was nearly undetectable.

People streamed past, and he tried his hardest to ignore the flirty grins of the girls and scowling faces of the guys. Tonight, he wasn't there for fun. Duty called, and she stood just outside his reach with one of the most dangerous men in the city. It felt wrong and irresponsible to leave her out there with him, but he knew this case called for a different set of rules than most others. The enemy was her father, not some stranger she'd never met. And that brought to light a whole new slew of problems, namely the fact that Jace couldn't really keep her away from him. In fact, his whole job was to get her closer to him, and use that to infiltrate Valentine's personal space. From the strained looks father and daughter gave each other, Jace was resigned to the fact that that task wouldn't be easy.

As soon as he had the earpiece in place, he unnoticeably flipped on the remote in his pocket, turned up the volume, and peered out the door, keeping his eyes trained on Clary at all times.

Valentine's gaze swept over his daughter, a look of disgust curled his upper lip. "Really, Clarissa, is this," he waved his hand down her body and then to the club entrance, "the best you could do?"

Jace curled his fist into his side, already hating the man and he'd barely said ten words.

Clary sighed and thrust her hands onto her hips. "I hardly believe criticizing my wardrobe or my place of employment is why you came all the way out here tonight, Dad. We both know how much it pains you to be seen on this side of town."

"Don't speak to me in that tone, child. I'm still your father."

Clary raised her hand and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What do you want? I'm going to be late for work."

"Well," Valentine pulled at the bottom of his suit jacket, "perhaps that would be for the best. This place is not the sort of environment a young woman of your pedigree should be hanging around in."

"I gotta go," Clary huffed and turned away, her face red and eyes narrowed.

Before she got very far, Valentine reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back toward him. It took everything Jace had not to react the way he had when Jonathan did the same thing. Clary wanted to deal with her family herself, he got that, but these men seemed to like to "handle" women in a way Jace couldn't stomach. He never treated them like fragile little flowers himself, but he'd never deliberately hurt one. A coil of anger twisted inside him.

Valentine brought Clary's wrist to his chest and leaned down to speak into her face. "I will not tolerate disrespect. This is not how you were raised."

Jace expected Clary to shrink back, afraid, but she did the exact opposite. She straightened her spine and looked into her father's eyes. "To get respect, you need to give it. Are you respecting me, holding my arm and not allowing me to freely walk away from you?" She pulled against her father's grip, and Jace saw Valentine tighten it, his knuckles whitening, before he finally let go. Most people probably would have missed that subtle detail, but not Jace. Clary tucked her arm into her chest and rubbed her wrist with her other hand. "Now, if you've just come to spew your insults at me, I need to go."

Valentine sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "That isn't why I've come. There are a few . . . situations we must discuss, and it cannot wait."

"Fine, but I really don't have time right now," Clary said, still absently rubbing at her wrist. "I'll call and set up a meeting or something."

Valentine frowned. "Don't make me wait, Clarissa. You know very well I'm not a patient man."

"No, really?" Clary held up her arm and waved it in front of him. "I couldn't tell in the least."

Jace rolled his eyes, wishing she'd stop egging her father on. Sure, her feistiness was sexy as hell, but if she didn't want him to step in, she'd better learn to control it a little. Not all men—and apparently her father was one of them—appreciated a woman who could show them up verbally. He could see she was going to be more work than he'd originally thought.

Valentine narrowed his eyes. "Be careful, Clarissa." He leaned in and whispered into Clary's ear. The bug barely picked it up. "You never know who's watching."

When Valentine pulled away, Clary nodded and turned toward the club, her brow furrowed and her hands hanging at her side. Jace quickly put away his earpiece. She walked through the door and caught sight of him, her face morphing into a strange sort of . . . relief. "You didn't have to wait for me. I don't want to hold up all your 'social networking' or anything." A sly grin spread over her lips.

Jace couldn't help but return it, even though he knew hers was fake. "As if you could."

"Mmm," she said as she looked down.

Jace followed her gaze, and without thinking, reached out and ran his hand down her arm, lifting carefully to inspect it. Pink patches in the shape of a hand fanned over her wrist. With a sigh, he slowly traced the area with his fingers, touching her skin with the lightest possible contact. The anger that had spiked in him earlier, steadily grew and spread until his whole body vibrated with it. He wanted to hurt Valentine Morgenstern. Not just for all the things he'd done to unsuspecting strangers, but also for the way he blatantly disregarded his own daughter. His own flesh and blood.

When Jace looked up again, he found Clary's eyes on him, studying him as he processed his thoughts.

"It doesn't hurt," she said quietly.

"It shouldn't be there at all. Neither of them should leave any marks on you, ever." Unconsciously, his hand wrapped gently around her wrist, as if he could somehow protect it from further harm. Or heal what had already been done.

She glanced down at where they were connected, before meeting his gaze once more. A slow grin started at one corner of her mouth and rebellious flames licked behind the green of her eyes. "Then teach me."

He cocked his head to the side and allowed himself to study her, taking in the smallness of her frame, and the fact that she had no muscle definition whatsoever. But what she did have—that flickering fire deep inside—well, _that_ he could work with. He nodded once and returned her smile with a slow one of his own. "All right, Spitfire. You're on."

.o.O.o.

Clary yawned and stretched her hands over her head as she sat in front of the easel, trying to concentrate on finishing her art piece before lunch. Working until three in the morning had to stop on nights when she had an early class the next day. Her entire body felt as though it was floating instead of seated on top of a hard wooden stool. She held the brush firmly in her hand and swirled the bristles into the bright green glob on her palette, stifling another yawn. With even pressure, she slid the brush along the canvas, carefully distributing the paint onto the white surface.

"So," came a voice from just beside her, "whatcha workin' on?"

Clary peered over her shoulder, spying her friend Maia as she dropped her bag onto the floor and took the seat next to Clary. "Hey, Maia. You're late."

"Yeah, well," she reached around, gathered the bulk of her curly brown hair in her hand and twisted a tie around it to hold it back, "I got into a debate with some Pretty Boy over the unrealistic attitude that covert operations were superior to regular operational scenarios in warfare."

Clary laughed. Maia had a sick fascination with any type of strategic exercise or idea. Clary swore Maia would be in the FBI some day. But Heaven forbid anyone challenge her ideas.

"So, did you win?" Clary asked as she dabbed a bit more paint onto the canvas.

Maia huffed. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"I take that as a no." Clary laughed.

Maia rolled her eyes and dug around in the cabinet next to her station for her supplies. Once she had them all situated, she took her seat and started working on her own project. Clary had finally gotten into the groove and let the steady flow of creativity and silence wash over her, when Maia started in on her tirade once more.

"I mean, what the hell does he know anyway? I've never seen him in any of my Government classes before, so he probably really doesn't know what he's talking about, right?"

"What year is he?" Clary asked, not really caring but figuring she had no choice but to indulge Maia or else she'd never shut up.

"I don't know." Maia smeared a large blob of red right through her blue sky. Clary cringed at the effect. "Junior or something." She looked over and pointed her paintbrush at Clary. "Which is another thing. Why is he in a sophomore class if he's a junior?"

Clary shrugged. "Maybe it's just an elective and he likes Government. I don't know, Maia." She refilled her brush with green. "What's your problem with him anyway?" She glanced over and raised her brow. "You got a crush or something?"

Maia nearly dropped her palette. "God, no. He is so not my type. Such a cocky," her brush strokes grew heavier and paint started flying in complete disorder off her brush, "arrogant, narcissistic douchebag."

"All because he disagreed with you?"

She sighed and dropped her brush, raising her hand to rub her forehead. "Yeah. Weird, right? I mean, normally I can handle a good debate, but he was just . . . so _sure_ of himself, and it totally got on my nerves."

"You're just not used to anyone showing you up in your strongest subject."

Maia narrowed her eyes and flicked her paintbrush at Clary, getting a small splatter of paint on Clary's coveralls. "Shut it."

Clary laughed and looked down at her watch, sighing when she realized class time was almost over. "Damn. I really wanted to finish this today." She heaved herself out of her chair and proceeded to clean up her station. Maia worked alongside of her and once everything had been put back into its proper place—paint in the cabinet, canvases on the drying rack, coveralls in the bin, brushes in turpentine—the two girls walked out of the classroom and toward the front hall.

"My new roommate is here today," Clary said as she pushed open the doors to the outside and stepped onto the concrete stairs. The scent of fall and chill washed over her. "You wanna come to lunch with me and meet her?"

"Sure," Maia said, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket and hunching her shoulders as a breeze whipped through the square, lifting several leaves and swirling them across their path. "Hell, it's getting cold already."

"Try riding on the back of a motorcycle in a short skirt in this weather."

Maia stopped and stared wide-eyed at her, a few chestnut curls falling over her shoulder. "When did you ride on the back of a bike? And why on earth were you in a skirt?"

Clary laughed and continued walking across the campus. "Last night I was almost late for work, so my roommate's cousin gave me a ride on his bike."

"Seriously?" Maia looked forward, a dreamy expression on her face. "I've always wanted to ride a bike. But by myself, you know? Not with someone else driving."

"Why not? That's the best part! Snuggling up to a leather-clad hottie." Clary nodded. "Definitely the best part."

"Hmm," Maia said. "I see your point."

"Right?" Clary laughed.

"So . . . this guy was cute, huh?"

"Jesus, you have no idea."

Maia snorted and glanced back at Clary. "You gonna get some of that or what?"

"Doubtful." Clary shook her head and smiled. "He's trouble, that one. Sex on legs with a capital S and a capital L—hell, may as well make them all capital." She bit down on her lower lip. "I mean, he's a total player, you know? So, no, I'm not interested in going down that road, but God, if he doesn't make me just want to . . . I don't even know."

Maia chuckled. "You wanna throw him down and get a peek at what he's packing?"

"Maia!" Clary reached out and shoved her friend away from her. "God, do you have to be so gross?"

Maia's laughter rose in volume. "I didn't hear a denial."

Clary felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "I plead the fifth."

Maia doubled over and continued with her snickers all the way across the quad. But, apparently, Clary's embarrassment wasn't complete because Maia persisted with her torture by singing a horribly off-key rendition of, "Clary and Motorcycle hottie sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G." The singing only became louder as they neared their destination. Clary tried walking several steps in front of Maia in order to not be seen with her while she made a fool out of herself, but that only spurred her to belt it at the top of her lungs. So, she slowed back down and prayed that Maia would soon tire of embarrassing her. Finally, they stopped in front of the doors to the diner. Clary turned to Maia, ready to slap her for her obnoxiousness, when her eyes caught sight of something that made the whole situation worse than Maia's out-of-tune singing in the first place.

Leaning up against the building, his arms crossed over his chest and clad in his black leather jacket, was Mr. Motorcycle Hottie. _Damn_, Clary thought. And not just because he obviously knew he was the hottie in question—evidenced by the lop-sided smirk affixed to his face—but also because Clary was pretty sure a little drool escaped from her mouth. She really had to figure out how to control her bodily responses to him.

He pushed away from the wall and came up behind Maia, who still continued to sing her horrible song, remaining oblivious to the mortification she was thrusting on Clary.

"Kissing in a tree, Spitfire?" Jace asked. "Wouldn't that be a bit uncomfortable? I think right here would be much better, don't you?"

Clary could have sworn she felt her ovaries explode.

Maia's mouth contorted into a surprised O and she spun around. She drew in a sharp breath. "You."

Jace glanced down, finally seeming to recognize Maia. "Me," he said, a slight tinge of amusement in his voice. "Are you back for more intellectual debate about the workings of our government agencies?"

Maia whipped back around, her eyes wide and mouth open. "Him? Seriously? _He's_ the motorcycle-hottie?"

"Maia!" Clary whisper shouted, her face flaming. She wanted nothing more at that moment than to crawl inside a hole and pull a half mile of dirt on top of her—except perhaps to pull Jace on top of her. What? Jesus! Now was so not the time to go there. She looked up and met Jace's amused stare. "I—I did not say you were hot."

"Yes you did," Maia interrupted, and Clary wanted to punch her in the throat. "You said the best part of the ride was snuggling up to the leather-clad hottie."

"Jesus hell, Maia!" Clary turned on her friend, embarrassment burning on every visible patch of her skin. "I swear on everything that is good and holy that I will murder you if you do not go inside that diner right now!"

Maia narrowed her eyes at Clary, then Jace, and stole into the restaurant, the bells above the door tinkling behind her. Clary kept her gaze locked on the ground, studying a parade of ants as they made their way across the sidewalk and into a crack near the side. She didn't want to look up because she knew the only thing she'd see was his golden eyes and she didn't know if she could handle that right then. Closing her lids, she let out a slow breath, trying to ward the heat away from the surface of her skin.

"You know, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. Most women find me attractive. And it's not like you haven't told me you thought so already anyway."

Clary rolled her eyes and finally looked up. "I never told you that you were hot."

"Maybe you didn't come right out and say 'Jace, you are so hot', but I do recall the phrase: 'hot, tattooed guy' coming out of your mouth, and you telling me that I wasn't, and I quote, 'completely ill-fated in the looks department.'"

"That's not the same thing as me saying: '_you_ are hot.'"

"I choose to believe it is. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside."

Clary couldn't help but laugh, a bit of her mortification subsiding.

Jace grinned. "We should go inside. I'm sort of hoping your friend can shed a bit more light on this revelation of you thinking I'm hot."

And then it was back. Clary's cheeks flared once again. "I didn't say—"

Jace reached up and pressed his finger to her lips, effectively cutting off her denial. "Your blood betrays you, Spitfire," he said quietly. "Which I find extremely fortunate because I meant it when I said I enjoyed your blush. The color is appealing on you." His eyes bored into hers and his finger traced the edge of her bottom lip before falling away. "Very appealing."

Clary's breath hitched and then she narrowed her eyes, pulling her face away from him. "That's not going to work on me, Casanova."

He furrowed his brows. "What's not going to work?"

"Your little seduction act." She waved her hand in front of her, gesturing to him. "I don't care how attractive you are, I'm not falling for your games."

He stepped in closer to her, tucking two fingers under her chin and raising her face to his. "I wouldn't dream of playing games with you, Clary. You're much too smart for that. However," he dropped his hand and reached for the door handle, pulling it open and gesturing for her to go inside, "if you're being seduced, that's all on you, baby."

"Right." Clary snorted, walking past him and into the diner. "Why do I have this feeling that it would be very stupid to trust anything you say?"

"Because you have every reason in the world not to."

.o.O.o.

The soft yellow hue of the walls outside of Hodge's office reminded Jace of the daisy wallpaper his mother insisted made their kitchen look "bright and cheery." He had no idea why since most of that paper was white, but he supposed the inner part of the flower was pretty close to this yellow so that must've been it. But it could've also been the fact that she'd painted the cabinets to match. Either one would make sense. These were the types of absurd thoughts that flitted through his head as he waited, sprawled out comfortably in the plush brown chairs across from Amatis' desk.

With a sigh, he glanced at his watch, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as impatience set in. Amatis glanced up and looked at him over the top rim of her glasses. A warning. He raised his hands and brows in question. _What?_

She set her pen down on the desk with a resounding click. "Don't give me the 'what' look, Jace. You know what."

Jace lowered his hands. "Obviously I don't or I wouldn't ask."

"You know I hate your fidgeting."

"Men do not _fidget_, Amatis."

"No, but _boys_ do." She grinned. "And that _is_ what you are, Jace. A boy."

Jace's mouth dropped open in a mock expression of hurt and he placed his hand over his heart. "How you hurt me, Amatis."

Hodge's door opened just then, and he came out of his office, escorting two men in suits similar to his to the outer doors. Jace stood and leaned over Amatis' desk. "This isn't over, Sweetness."

She chuckled and waved him away. "Go away and let me work."

Jace grinned as he pushed himself forward slightly and pecked her on the cheek before standing straight and sauntering into Hodge's office. Settling down into the chair, he lifted one foot and braced it against the side of the desk. Hodge came in soon after him, closing the door quickly and making his way around to his own chair.

"Feet on the floor." He gestured with his hand as he sat.

Jace rolled his eyes and lowered his foot.

Hodge took his time getting comfortable and then clasped his hands in front of him, meeting Jace's eyes but saying nothing.

Jace raised his brows. "Am I in trouble again?" He asked the question, though this time he really had no idea what he could have done. He'd been disgustingly good lately. In his mind, he made a note to change that immediately.

"No." Hodge sighed and sank back into his chair.

"So what's with the look then?"

"What look?"

"That one." Jace pointed to Hodge's face. "The one people only give when they're upset about something."

"I'm not upset." Hodge ran a hand through his hair. "I'm . . . concerned."

"About?"

Hodge looked down and shook his head, his brows creasing. "About this whole case. About what you've been asked to do—"

"Why?" Jace asked. "This type of case isn't uncommon. People pretend to be other people all the time to gain information. What's the problem? Isabelle, Alec, and I are doing just fine."

"It's not the specifics of the job, it's . . ." He paused and scratched at his cheek. "It's the position we've put you in."

"Hodge, we're more than capable of handling this job."

"I'm not talking about the others, Jace. I'm talking about you."

Jace raised his brows. "Are you saying you don't think I can handle this? It's not like it's hard. I mean, I've worked my way into her life just fine. In fact—"

"I'm not talking about your ability to do the job. I'm talking about the stakes involved in this whole thing."

"Stakes?"

Hodge sighed and leaned forward once again. "What you're being asked to do . . . It's risky. It's . . . personal, emotional."

"Come on, Hodge. You don't know Clary. She's tough. I really don't think she's going to lose her heart over this."

Hodge eyed Jace before he spoke, a careful, even tone to his voice. "It's not _her_ heart I'm worried about."

.o.O.o.

Clary squinted into the smog filled sky, wishing she could somehow see though the layer of pollution to the stars above. Seeing them would remind her of a time when things felt a little less confusing. A little less messed up. She'd become obsessed with the constellations after a unit they did in her fourth grade science class, and had begged for a telescope for months afterward. Of course, her father made sure to point out all the reasons why having one in New York City would not only be absurd, but a huge waste of money. True to form, her mother disregarded her father's rants and bought Clary one for her birthday. After that, she made sure to schedule a monthly visit to an old family friend's farm a couple of hours outside of the city. Clary loved those quiet nights where it was just her and her mother, alone, lying in the middle of a field under a sweeping mass of pinprick lights. It was there she felt truly free, truly loved, and truly special. At home, it was always Jonathan this and Jonathan that. Clary was just the misfit, the odd one. But not in her mother's eyes, and not in their special place. After her mother's death two years later, Clary never went back to Luke's farm. And she hadn't seen the stars since. Not really.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and tried to remember how bright they'd looked to her ten-year-old eyes. But years, and experiences, jaded the innocent visions in her head to only dull, ghosts of a memory. She didn't know how long she stood there, with her eyes closed, before she felt it, that tiny prickle that something wasn't right, and a pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her body hard against their owner. A scream worked its way up into her throat, but froze when she felt warm whispers dance across her ear.

"Lesson number one, Spitfire." The sound of his voice made her relax almost immediately. "Never lose yourself so completely in your own head that you're not aware of your surroundings."

"But I was alone," she said, her voice sounding a little breathy.

"In a city this large, you're never alone."

Clary swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. She tried to blame it on the suddenness of his attack, but somehow, she doubted that was the entire reason. "Okay. Got it. No more daydreaming." She paused, waiting for him to release her, but he didn't. His strong arms held her firmly in their grasp, and while she wasn't complaining, she didn't really know why he didn't let her go. "Um, are you going to let me go?"

"Of course I'm not. I'm an evil attacker bent on doing horrible things to you. Show me how you'd get away."

"What?" She turned toward his voice, finding his face just next to hers. A breath caught in her throat as her eyes took in the mess of blond curls falling over his forehead, and the shadow of stubble lining his jaw.

His gaze met hers and he grinned. "Try to get away."

"Oh." Clary looked forward and thought about the best way to get free. "Okay." Not coming to any good conclusion, she started to wiggle and squirm, anything to loosen his grip. She felt his chest shake with laughter, which only made her struggle harder. After a minute of relentless trying, she gave up, letting her body fall limp against him.

Jace tsk-ed at her. "Giving up already? I could have killed you six times by now."

"Well, isn't that the point of you helping me?" she spat, feeling her face heat.

"True." He still held her tightly. "Okay then, let's look at this logically. By the way I have you pinned, you have only the use of your legs and your head. Both are excellent weapons, but only use your head as a last resort. It hurts like hell and there's no guarantee your attacker will let your arms free. You need the element of surprise to accomplish that."

"Okay," Clary said, infinitely interested in listening to him talk—and not just because the subject matter was fascinating.

"The first thing you want to try to do is get my arms to loosen enough for you to free one or both of yours. If you're going to have a chance of getting away, you need your arms to fight. The best way to do this is to lift your foot, scrape it down my shin, and stomp down on mine."

Clary giggled. "Really? Like I was having a fit or something?"

She felt him nod. "Exactly."

"Okay, then what?"

"Well, if it has the desired affect and I loosen my grip, you pull your arms out and twist your torso enough to hit me in the face or throat."

Clary bit her lip, thinking over his instructions and trying to piece together the scenario in her mind. "All right, I think I've got it."

"You want to try?"

"What? Now?"

He chuckled. "Yes, Spitfire. Now."

She furrowed her brow. "What if I hurt you?"

He laughed harder. "Don't worry about me. I can handle it."

"Are you saying you don't think I could hurt you?" She whipped her head toward his. "Because I have—"

"I think, you could be highly dangerous to anyone, man or woman. So just shut up and do it."

"Fine," Clary grumbled. She took in a deep breath to calm herself and closed her eyes, concentrating on what she was going to do. After a moment, she lifted her foot and thrust it down against him just as he'd said. He didn't budge.

"You're going to have to try harder than that."

She did it again. Still no movement. She tried three more times before roaring in frustration.

He sighed in her ear, which made her shiver. "You're holding back."

"Well," she started, a slight whine lacing her words, "I'm trying not to hurt you."

"What did I say about that? Forget it's me. Treat me like I'm some random sick pig on the street and that I want to do nasty things to you."

"As opposed to the sick pig that wants to do nasty things to me that you really are?"

He leaned into her, his breath at her ear. "Yes, Spitfire, as opposed to that."

She swallowed, trying to not picture any of those "nasty" things. "Okay." Closing her eyes for a moment, she slammed her foot down hard, and felt his grip loosen immediately. In the rush of freedom, she twisted her upper body and thrust her fist into his face, knocking him back a few steps. Jace bent forward and lifted his hand, wiping the back of it across his mouth. A streak of red colored his skin.

Clary gasped and rushed toward him. "Oh, God. I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean—I'm so sorry." She grabbed his face between her hands and started to inspect it for damage.

"It's fine, Clary." He laughed. "That was good. Really good. Perfect, actually."

She shook her head, her brows pinching together as she studied the patch of blood smeared on his mouth. "No. It wasn't. I hurt you."

"No, you didn't. I'm fine," he said.

Without thinking, she swept her thumb across his lip, dabbing the stain away. After a moment, she realized he hadn't said a word and that she was perilously close to his face, her hands tucked around his cheeks and her thumb playing at his mouth. She slowed her movements and swallowed, her eyes fixated on his lips. A gust of breath left her and she raised her gaze to his. He stared down at her, neither of them moving.

Clary's pulse raced and she wondered if he could feel it through her hands. She knew with every fiber of her being that she should move away, now, before she did something she might later regret. But, God, did she just want to see what he felt like. Just once. Only for a second. If she could have that, maybe the indescribably massive draw she felt to him would lessen, at least a little bit. By the way he looked at her, it didn't seem as if he'd mind. She moved in a little closer, seeing what he would do. His eyes dropped to her mouth momentarily and his lips parted. Clary drew her bottom one between her teeth and watched as a small crease formed between his brows.

A sudden buzz against her leg caused her to jump, and the spell over them broke as Jace moved back a step. Clary felt that distance deep in her chest. She fumbled at her pocket, finally withdrawing the vibrating nuisance and wanting to throw it over the side of the building for interrupting. The words: _one new text message_ flashed across her screen. She pressed the _view now_ button and waited for the message to appear. Once it did, she frowned.

"What is it?" Jace asked, stepping forward once more to peer at the device.

Clary held it out to him, her mouth dropping open. "I have no idea."

The message consisted of just one phrase.

_Peek-a-boo._

"Peek-a-boo?" He looked up at her. "Is that some sort of joke?"

Clary shrugged. "It says 'unknown caller.'" She pushed the end button and bit her lip, thinking. After a moment, she snapped her fingers and pointed at Jace. "Raphael. I bet it's him."

Jace frowned like he didn't buy it. "Why would he send it from an unknown number?"

Clary opened her mouth to speak, but found she had no answer. "He wouldn't. Raph is too proud to play a game like that." She thought about it for another few seconds, then shrugged again. "Maybe it was a wrong number."

Just as the words passed her lips, the phone buzzed again._ One new text message_. This time Jace took the phone from her hands and pressed the view button himself. Another short line flashed across the dimly lit screen. Only this time, the message was clear. The intent obvious. And, even though Clary had no idea who sent it, the threat hung heavy and palpable in the air.

_I see you._

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_Hmm...it seems that, with this fic, you're going to have to get used to cliffy's. (and UST)._

_Love to my beta, LLWB, who rocks my socks. *heart* you!_

_*smooches* ~ddpjclaf_


	7. Stay

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**6. Stay**

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Push – Matchbox 20_

_**Scared – Three Days Grace_

_**Stay With You – Goo Goo Dolls_

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The elevator crawled at the speed of a snail. Clary leaned against the back railing, her eyes fixed on the gleaming, tiled ceiling above, while the swells of Celine Dion reverberated throughout the small space. Simon stood at her side, his hands tucked into his pockets as he whistled along to _The Power of Love. _Clary snickered, looked over at him, and shook her head.

Simon froze, his mouth still in the shape of a small O, and glanced down at her. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing." She smiled.

He raised his brows and cocked his head to the side as if waiting for a better answer.

Clary laughed again. "It's just . . . well, you're such a dork. I mean, you're whistling _The Power of Love._"

"What's wrong with _The Power of Love_?" he asked, his brows drawing together. "I think it's a musical masterpiece."

Clary doubled over, laughter pouring out of her. Simon tried to continue whistling but couldn't through the smile forming on his lips, so he proceeded to sing the chorus in his best falsetto voice. Soon, they were both laughing, their snorts echoing off the walls. Both were in tears by the time the elevator doors slid open.

Clary reached up and wiped the moisture from her eyes, her gaze landing on her brother's scowling face. "Well, hello, Jonathan." Clary and Simon stepped out of the lift into the ornately decorated office. A large cherry desk stretched the expanse of the room and a painted up blonde sat behind it, her long, fake nails clicking at the keyboard.

"Clary," Jonathan answered, before turning his stare to Simon. "And you brought your friend, lovely."

"Hey, Jon. What's up?" Simon lifted his hand into the air like he wanted to high-five.

Jonathan scowled, and looked Simon up and down. His arms stayed glued to his side. "It's Jonathan, Lewis. For as long as you've known me, I've never let you call me Jon."

Simon shrugged and leaned toward Jonathan. "One of these days, I shall break you, and you'll be begging me to call you Jon."

Jonathan rolled his eyes and raised his gaze to Clary. "Are you ready? Father's expecting you."

"Yeah." Clary hitched her bag over her shoulder and moved toward Jonathan. Simon followed.

Jonathan held out a hand, pushing it to Simon's chest. "Your lap dog stays here."

"Is that an insult to my size? Because, I really don't think I'd fit in her lap. We could try it out though, and see." Simon glanced behind him toward the seating area. "Ah, that big green chair looks comfy enough."

Clary stifled a giggle. "Sit Ooboo, sit. Good dog," she said to Simon.

"Woof," he answered.

"Quit screwing around." Jonathan took hold of Clary's elbow, tugging her toward the large double doors to their left. His grip was not tight, and she followed willingly.

As the doors opened, Clary found herself immersed in her father's world once again. For so long she'd distanced herself, not only because of the way he made himself appear superior to her and everyone else, but because he treated his things and space like they belonged in a museum. Not a speck of dust lined any surface in his office. Everything was arranged in groups of three and positioned at just the right angles. Little trinkets from his world travels dotted the expansive dark, wood shelves, as well as pictures of him and Jonathan during their many excursions.

Only one photo of Clary occupied his space. It was one from when she was about five and the whole family had gone with Valentine on his business trip to Paris. The Eifel Tower stood proud and tall in the background with her parents right in front of it. Jonathan was situated just before their father, Valentine's hand cupped proudly around Jonathan's seven-year-old shoulder, and Clary sat on her mother's hip. They all smiled. Clary couldn't remember another time where they all looked like a family.

Things hadn't always been the way they were now. Valentine changed significantly when he started working the higher profile cases in the city. He turned cold and aloof. His family no longer came first as his hours at the office became longer and longer. Business trips piled together, leaving long stretches of time where Clary, her mother, and brother were alone.

Jonathan had always looked up to their father and vowed to become just as successful as him. This pleased Valentine to no end, and thus began the favoritism in the family. Even now, though Jonathan was still only in college, he spent all his free time at the firm, learning underneath their father.

Clary had no interest in law and preferred the arts just like her mother. Not that Valentine really cared anyway. Clary was just a reminder of what he'd lost when Jocelyn died, so his distance from her grew over the last seven years. She was certain it wouldn't bother him in the least if she vanished, never to be seen again. She was a nuisance, a disappointment, an embarrassment.

Valentine didn't look up as they entered, but continued filling out the paperwork in front of him. "You're late, Clarissa."

Clary frowned and looked at her watch. "By two minutes."

Valentine's eyes lifted to hers, not a speck of amusement in them. "That's two minutes wasted. Two minutes I could have been doing something else besides waiting for you. Two minutes I can never get back."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Dad."

He set his pen down, his black eyes meeting hers. "Come on what? You made an appointment with me, asked for moments of my time, yet, you waste them. Is my time worth nothing to you?"

"I only made an appointment because you told me you needed to speak with me. I can leave if you're too busy to complete the meeting _you_ wanted . . ." She pointed over her shoulder to the exit.

Valentine sighed and leaned back into his chair, tenting his fingers at his chest. "Sit down. Both of you."

Jonathan hurried to one of the chairs situated in front of the massive desk and sat, his spine straight and hands in his lap. Clary held back an eye roll, clenched her jaw, and made her way forward, dropping her bag beside the chair and plopping down into it. She wiggled to get comfortable. Valentine eyed her with annoyance, and Clary kept it up just to get a rise out of him.

"Are you quite finished?" he asked, a small vein twitched above his eye.

Clary held up a finger. "Hold on." She squirmed some more, thinking maybe if she kept it up, that little vein would explode. Valentine let out an aggravated sigh and Clary figured she'd better quit while ahead. "All right, I think I'm good. Shoot."

Her father lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed as if he had a headache. "Very well." He looked up. "Jonathan is already aware, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to refresh him as well."

Jonathan made to protest, but Valentine held up a finger to stop him.

"As you both know, I've worked many years with certain . . . shall we say, 'high profile' clients."

Clary forced herself not to roll her eyes, again, at the phrase 'high profile'. In her mind, those clients were nothing more than scoundrels. She didn't know how her father could stand working with them. It saddened her how much he'd changed since he'd started.

"I've begun a case for a new elite client, and it's . . . well, it's delicate." He looked up, meeting Clary's eyes. "Because of this, their people are looking into me. My background. My history." He paused. "My family."

Clary swallowed.

"It's nothing to be alarmed over, but it is important that you both be on your best behavior." His gaze fell on Clary again, and she felt her face heat. "Please don't do anything to embarrass me, or this firm. This is an important case and I'd hate to lose it because of something one of you did."

"Why would anything we do have any impact on your case?" Clary asked.

"Because you are an extension of me. Your actions weigh on my reputation, my credibility." He stroked his chin. "The company you keep always colors others opinions on you. As does who you're related to. You should know this, Clarissa."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Clary asked, her face getting hotter as anger rose in her chest. "Why are you singling me out?"

"Because, dear, Jonathan has impeccable taste in companions." He paused and Jonathan chuckled. Clary glared at him. "You, on the other hand, seem to invite any old riff-raff into the fray." He stood and walked to his door, pulling it open to reveal Simon, rifling through a pile of magazines near the desk, his shirt hanging partially untucked and his hand digging at a wedgie.

Clary huffed. "Simon? Please. He's harmless." Her best friend may have been the biggest dork known to man, but he was her dork.

Valentine nodded, closed the door, and made his way back to his seat behind the desk. Sitting down, he clasped his hands together and rested his chin on his outstretched pointer fingers. "Perhaps, but Jonathan tells me you've made a new friend."

Clary furrowed her brows and wracked her brain for which they may be referring.

"From the way he described it, this boy was quite protective of you and seems to resemble the young man I saw you with outside your place of employment."

Clary raised her brows. "You mean Jace?"

"Jace." Valentine tapped his chin, his eyes fixed on the far wall. "Interesting name."

Clary frowned. "What about him? He's my roommate's cousin."

Valentine glanced at her finally. "Is that all? Because from what we both saw, he seems to be a bit, shall we say, fixated on you."

Clary felt a tiny squirm of apprehension crawling up from her gut. For whatever reason, she didn't want her father taking an interest in Jace. "Yeah. We're not even really friends. Acquaintances maybe." She shrugged.

"Could have fooled me," Jonathan mumbled. "You seemed pretty cozy together the day I saw you."

"You saw us together for all of two minutes, Jonathan. How is it you could tell how 'cozy' we were in that amount of time?" Clary felt the flush rising from her chest. "And furthermore, what does it matter whether we're friends or not? My friends have nothing to do with you or your case."

Valentine sighed. "Not directly, but they have everything to do with you. While I'm working on this case, I need to know who is in your life and who's not. I cannot allow you to damage any progress I've made with these people. Do you hear me, Clarissa? Am I making myself clear?"

"Whatever," Clary muttered.

Valentine leaned forward, both palms pressed flat to the desk in front of him. "I asked you a question and I expect a direct answer."

Clary glared at her father, her eyes narrowed in contempt. "Yes, Sir."

"Good." Valentine smiled and leaned back into his chair, his hands drawn back up as they were before. The lights above illuminated the silvery-white of his hair. "Now, tell me about your new . . . acquaintance."

.o.O.o.

Questions filled Clary's mind on the subway ride home. Simon tried to encourage her to participate in a game of "Name that Blur," but she couldn't focus long enough to make any sense out of anything. Why had her father needed to call her all the way into his office to tell her to be discreet? It wasn't like she didn't already know this. Being the daughter of a well known lawyer had taught her those lessons early on. She knew never to discuss her father's business or personal life. So, why the lecture now? Also, why was he so curious about any new friends in her life? He hadn't cared a lick before. What had changed? She had the uncomfortable feeling that her visit had been about something completely different than her father and brother had let on, but she had no idea what it could be.

". . . and so I told her I couldn't go because I needed to babysit you," Simon said.

"What?" Clary snapped back to attention. "What's this about babysitting me?"

Simon looked at her, his face morphing into one of chagrin. "Uh, did I say babysitting? I meant . . ."

"Come off it, Simon" She spun toward him. "What do you mean 'babysitting'?"

"Well . . . Izzy told me we needed to keep an eye on you because of those texts you got."

"Texts . . ." Clary sighed. "Jace. He told you about those?"

"No, Izzy told me."

Clary pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "Still, I know he tattled since he was the one there. I'm gonna kill him."

"Not that the thought of you murdering him bothers me, but . . ." Simon scowled. "Aren't you freaked out? I mean . . . that's pretty creepy."

"Well, I was." The train came to a stop and Clary and Simon prepared to exit. As the doors opened, they filed out with the crowd of passengers onto the subway platform. "But, it was only that one time, and it's been over a week now. I think it was a wrong number."

"But what if it wasn't? What if someone's stalking you or something?" He shuddered.

Clary laughed and made her way up the stairs and out onto the street. "Who would want to stalk me?"

Traffic passed them in a flurry of movement. People rushed by, cell phones to their ears and brief cases swinging, never noticing each other as they went about their business. City sounds flooded into Clary's ears, the constant buzz of life making her feel comfortable and secure. The city wasn't the place for everyone, but to Clary it was home, and she couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

He shrugged. "Maybe one of the many men you've scorned."

"Scorned? How many men have I _scorned_, Simon?"

"Uh . . ."

"Exactly." Clary nodded and crossed the street to their apartment building. She bound inside, stopped at the mailbox and gathered the bundle of advertisements, coupons, and envelopes, then she and Simon took the stairs two at a time.

"Still," he said, pausing at the door to their apartment and fishing his key out of his pocket. Sliding it into the lock, he twisted until they both heard the resounding click. Pushing the door open, Simon gestured for Clary to enter. "You can never be too careful."

Clary shoved her purse in its normal cubby under the entrance table and padded into the living room, kicking her shoes off and leaving them where they fell. Plopping down onto the sofa, she let out a long sigh. "I'm not saying that's not true, but really, I can't walk around freaked out all the time. I'd never go anywhere or do anything."

"I suppose." Simon stood in the hall, not taking off his jacket or his shoes. He held his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes on the floor and his bottom lip clenched between his teeth.

"Si?"

"Yeah?" He looked up, his brows rising almost into his dark hair with the motion.

"I don't need a babysitter. You can go out or whatever." She gestured to the door behind him.

"Well . . ." He glanced over his shoulder.

Clary stood and walked over to him, placed her hands on his shoulders, and spun him toward the door. She pushed him down the hall, stopping just a few inches before the entrance. "Really. I'll be fine. I'm just going to work on a little homework, get cleaned up, and go to bed."

"Are you sure?" Simon fidgeted. "I mean, you won't go out alone or anything, right?"

"Jesus, what am I? Twelve?" She reached out and twisted the knob, shoving him out into the hallway. "I'll be fine."

He hesitated. "Make sure you lock the door and—"

"Goodbye, Simon." Clary shut the door and leaned her back against it, giggling. She loved her friends, but they totally needed to get a grip. Jace would so be hearing from her later for getting everyone else all in a tizzy over this whole misunderstanding. For such a strong, capable man, he sure did fuss a lot.

With a sigh, she turned back into the living room, grabbed her bag, and proceeded to drag her books from inside it. Once she had them all spread onto the floor in front of her, she settled in for a long evening of work.

After a few hours, the words started to blur together and her eyes stung. Clary rubbed them, stretched, and stood to her feet. Most of her work was finished and she decided to call it a night. A peel of thunder crashed outside and gentle ticks of rain splattered against the windows. She wondered when Isabelle would return from her night classes and hoped she'd remembered her umbrella. Clary shoved all her books back into her bag, moving slowly around the end tables as to not stub her toe like she did a week before. She still had a bruise to show for it.

Making her way past the couch, Clary stifled a yawn as she stole down the hall and into her room. She closed the door behind her and tossed her bag near the foot of her bed, thinking she could finish the rest of her homework first thing in the morning. The door to her attached bathroom stood ajar and she went through, flipping on the light and going directly to the tub. She twisted the knobs, keeping her hand under the stream until the water reached the desired temperature. Slipping off her clothes, Clary tossed them into the hamper next to the toilet, and stepped under the hot spray. She tipped her head back and let the water wash away the grime and worry of the day. Her father's words and warnings swirled at her feet and fell down into the abyss of the drain as she allowed the heat to massage her tired muscles.

Clary stood under the stream, her forehead against the cool tile, until it ran cold. With a sigh, she turned the knobs to off and reached for the towel hanging just outside the shower. She wiped it up and down her body, clearing her skin of any water, and wrapped it in her hair. Pulling back the shower curtain, Clary started to step out of the tub when she saw it. Her breath caught and her heart jolted in her chest. It took her several seconds to register what her eyes were seeing.

Across the room, etched into the steam of the mirror, moisture dripping down like tears, was the sketch of an eye and six little words. Words that, strung together in the way that they were and given the circumstances, cemented the one thing she'd wished wasn't true. The one thing she'd hoped was all a misunderstanding. A mistake.

_I have my eye on you._

.o.O.o.

The papers crinkled in Jace's fingers as he sat hunched over them, trying to make a connection appear that just wasn't there. Since the incident the week before, Jace had focused his efforts on trying to trace where the texts had originated. With some assistance from a friend at the Academy, he'd discovered they'd been placed from a disposable phone, which didn't help him much at all. Finding who sent them would be next to impossible that way.

He now searched Clary's incoming call records, looking for anything out of the ordinary within a short window of time. He'd hoped that if he could find something, he could possibly link it with the strange messages. Unfortunately, until the other night, she had only received calls from several different numbers.

He let out a loud sigh and raised his hand to rub his brow. Alec leaned over his shoulder, a mug of steaming coffee in his hand.

"If you spill that on me, I'm going to be highly upset," Jace said without looking behind him.

Alec pulled back and came around the couch, setting his cup down and reaching for Jace's discarded papers.

"Find anything?" he asked.

"Not yet."

"Maybe Clary was right and there's nothing to find. Maybe it was just a wrong number."

Jace shook his head, furrowing his brows further. "We can't allow ourselves to push it off. Even if it is nothing, we can't treat it like it is."

Alec groaned and tossed the papers onto the coffee table. Jace looked up at him. "There's nothing to find. At least not here. You're obsessing."

Jace dropped his hands and sat up straight. "I'm not obsessing. I don't 'obsess'."

"You are," Alec said. "Ever since we started this case, you've been uptight."

Jace scowled and stood abruptly, letting the phone records fall to the floor in front of him. Alec sighed and bent to gather them. "I'm not the one with a persistent stick up my ass, Alec. That'd be you." He strode toward his bedroom, flicked on the light, and grabbed his jacket from the heap he'd thrown it into earlier. He needed to get out, to let his mind process the information he'd been going over. Maybe then, some of it would come together and make at least a little sense. The calls couldn't be a mistake. Somehow, he just knew they weren't.

After pulling his arms through the leather sleeves, Jace walked back into the living room and started toward the door. Alec followed.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Out." Jace grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone from the counter. "Don't wait up." He flashed Alec a grin and winked as he moved toward the door.

"Look, Jace, I know you care about this girl, but—"

Jace's hand froze on the doorknob and he turned his head toward Alec, narrowing his eyes. "What?"

"I said—"

"I heard what you said." Jace let go and faced Alec. "I just don't understand what the hell you meant by it."

Alec shook his head, grinned, and looked to the floor. "You're so blind. It's so obvious to everyone else that you like Clary. That you care about her."

Jace laughed. "Care about her? I don't care about _her_, at all." He crossed his arms over his chest, not liking the feeling saying those words caused inside him. "What I care about is this case. You know, the one we were sent here to do? I don't get sentimental like you and Isabelle apparently do. My job is to get to know Clary, get her to trust me, and bring me into her inner circle where I can get to Valentine. That's it. I don't _feel_ anything for her."

Alec shook his head and met Jace's eyes. "You're such an ass, Jace."

"And this is supposed to be news to me?" Jace tilted his head to the side and raised his brows. "Really, Alec." He turned back to the door and opened it quickly, stepping out into the hall and moving away from the apartment. But not before he heard Alec mutter under his breath. Jace couldn't make it out entirely, but caught a few words as he retreated.

". . .fool . . . oblivious . . . falling . . ."

Jace rolled his eyes and quickly made his way down the three flights of stairs to the outside. Rain drizzled from the dark canopy above. It was cool and wet against his skin and hair. He stood still in front of the building for several seconds, trying to decide what it was he'd come out there to do. He didn't want to ride his bike. He didn't want to go to the club. He just . . . wanted to think.

Having no better idea, he started to walk, losing himself in the crowds hurrying along the streets, cowering under their umbrellas. He didn't care about getting wet so he continued on unprotected as the rain fell down on him.

The people and scenery blurred past as he went over and over the things Alec had said. Was he obsessing? He didn't think so. He was doing the job he'd been sent to do, nothing more, nothing less. And where did Alec get off telling him he cared about Clary? Jace would know if he was crushing on her, and he most certainly was not.

The same strange twinge in his gut twanged as he processed these thoughts. He pushed it aside and focused on what was truly important. The texts. He couldn't help but feel like it was something more than a random screw up. It felt wrong and deliberate. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was that made him feel that way, he just did. His gut told him not to let this go, and his gut was never wrong. At least it hadn't been yet.

Jace didn't know how long he walked before he found himself standing in front of his apartment building once again. Something about it looked wrong, and it took Jace several seconds to realize what it was. Two police cars sat out front, their lights twirling red and blue into the dark night sky. He furrowed his brow, shoved his hands into his damp pockets, and moved toward the building. As he passed, one of the cops spoke into his radio.

"Apparent break-in in apartment 2B. Nothing taken. No injuries."

Jace's hearing perked. Apartment 2B. Isabelle's and Clary's apartment. Jace flew into the building and up the two flights of stairs to the second floor, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get there. When he arrived, he found Clary at the door, saying goodbye to a police officer. Her eyes met his briefly before flickering back to the cop. He handed her a card, muttered something about calling if anything else occurred, and turned toward the stairs, moving past Jace without so much as a glance. Jace watched him leave and then turned toward Clary, noticing for the first time that all she wore was a ratty blue bathrobe. Her hair hung in partially dry clumps, as if she'd not bothered to brush it after getting it wet.

He moved slowly toward her, stopping only once he stood directly in front of her. Her big green eyes looked up at him, and if he wasn't mistaken, she trembled just a little.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Not out here." She gestured for him to come inside, and glanced down the hall suspiciously. He did, and stepped over the threshold. Clary closed the door behind him and leaned against it, closing her eyes and letting out a deep breath. Jace peered back at her, waiting for her to talk.

She opened her eyes and furrowed her brows. "You're wet."

"You're just noticing this now?" Jace raised a hand and watched as several drops of water dripped from his sleeve onto the floor.

She sighed and pushed away from the door, waving for him to follow. "Take off your jacket. I'll get you a towel."

He started to protest, but she disappeared into the small hall bathroom and reappeared with a white towel. Jace shrugged off his wet jacket and took the towel. "So are you going to tell me what that was all about?" He ran the cloth over his head and face.

Clary sighed and sat down on the couch, her robe opening and revealing a patch of creamy, white thigh. Jace swallowed and looked away. Not at all the normal reaction for him, but ogling her felt inappropriate at the moment. Since when did he care about appropriateness? Since then, apparently.

"I got another message."

He whipped his head up, focusing on her eyes. "What? The same kind?"

She nodded, her throat moving visibly as she swallowed. "Only this time it was on my bathroom mirror."

Jace furrowed his brow.

Clary nodded. "I know. The police said whoever did it used something to write the words so that it wouldn't steam over." She paused. "I saw it when I got out of the shower—" She looked down and groaned. "Damn it. Why didn't you tell me I was nearly showing off my goods sitting here?" She tugged the robe closed and stood.

He chuckled, unable to help himself. She glared at him. "Sorry," he said. "I wasn't looking, though."

She cocked her head to the side and stared up at him. Disbelief etched into her face. "Like I'm going to believe that, Cass."

He held up his hands. "I swear I wasn't. But if it bothers you that much, the next time you're half dressed and showing me some skin, I promise I'll look."

Clary smiled weakly, and looked down at herself once more. "I—I should get dressed." She paused, and then sighed. "But I really don't want to go in there."

Jace glanced down the hall to the partially opened door on the end. "You want me to get you something? I have no problem pawing through your underwear drawer."

This time she laughed. "No, I'm sure you wouldn't. Though I'm afraid you'd be disappointed. I'm not really a sexy undergarment aficionado."

Jace remembered her lace cheekies and grinned. "Spitfire, I'm sure your underwear would impress the hell out of me. Now, do you want me to get you some clothes? Or would you like to continue to sit there and tempt me to look at that patch of thigh peeking through the opening in your robe?"

She hastily clutched at the fuzzy blue fabric, drawing the flaps back together once more and sighed. "Fine. I had my stuff sitting on top of my dresser."

Jace nodded and walked through the living room and down the hall, pushing the door open and going straight to the dresser, spying the pile immediately. Without pausing to look, he grabbed the clothing and hurried back into the living room, handing her the garments. She looked up at him and took them carefully before standing.

"I'll . . . be right back." She turned and then paused, glancing back at him, a bit of panic in her eyes. "Don't leave, okay?"

Jace felt that same strange feeling curl in his gut. "All right."

Clary's shoulders dropped in relief and she smiled lightly before turning to the hall and disappearing into the bathroom. Jace occupied himself by studying the photos propped up on the shelf. There were numerous shots of Clary and the dark-haired geek in various poses. In most of them, they were making stupid faces or giving each other bunny ears.

After several minutes, Jace heard the bathroom door open, and turned toward the sound. Clary emerged, wearing a light yellow, cotton camisole and matching pajama pants. She'd brushed her hair and pulled it into a braid which hung down the center of her back. Tiny spirals that didn't fit back into it hung loose around her face and barely touched her shoulders. Jace drew in a breath and exhaled it slowly. He stood there awkwardly, not knowing what she wanted from him.

She glanced up, met his eyes, and her cheeks tinged a soft pink. "Thanks for waiting." Biting her lip, she glanced down at her hands, which she held clasped in front of her. "You don't have to stay if you have other stuff to do." She gestured to Jace but her hand floundered to her side in the middle of her speech.

Jace took a couple of steps toward her, stopping when he reached her. He looked down into her face and she met his gaze. Creases in the corners of her eyes told him she was still afraid, even though he knew she would never admit it. "I can go if you like, Spitfire."

"I really wish you wouldn't," she whispered. "I—" A crack of thunder broke through the air and the lights flickered. Clary shuddered. "I don't want to be alone. Can you—" She glanced up. "Can you stay—just until Izzy or Simon come back? Or—however long you want."

Jace swallowed against the strangeness still apparent inside him. "I suppose." He stepped back from her, needing some space to dull the weirdness. "You want to talk about what happened?"

Clary shook her head. "Not in the least."

"Okay, then how do you propose to entertain me?"

She raised a brow. "Oh, you need to be entertained, do you?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm not here for my health, you know." He walked over and lounged across her couch, smiling.

Clary rolled her eyes. "Well, what is it you usually do for entertainment?"

He grinned wider.

Clary's cheeks flushed. "Besides that."

Jace sat up and furrowed his brows. "Now, how do you know what I was thinking?"

"Because you're a guy and that's what all guys think."

"Hmm." He tapped his chin. "You have a point there, Spitfire." He moved his finger to his temple. "Always thinking. I like that about you."

"Sure you do." Clary snapped her fingers and pointed at Jace. "Oh, I have an idea. We can go stargazing."

Jace raised his brows and peered over his shoulder at the rain streaked window. "Stargazing? In the city, during a storm? Did you hit your head?"

"Oh, shut up." She waved her hand at him and spun on her heel, disappearing into the hall. When she returned, she held a black, globe-like contraption in her hands. She set it down on an end-table and gestured for Jace to stand. "Help me move the coffee table out of the way."

Curious, Jace stood and helped her drag the heavy table off to the side. Once they had it moved, Clary grabbed the blanket on the back of the couch and spread it over the wood flooring. She went back to the globe thing and placed it in the middle of the blanket, then plugged it in.

"Okay, lie down."

Jace raised a brow and smirked.

She rolled her eyes and shoved him toward the blanket before turning off the overhead light. Jace made his way to the center of the room and lay down on his back. Clary came up next to him and settled beside him, leaving only inches between them. She reached down, and Jace heard a click. Suddenly, the ceiling was illuminated with tiny pinpoints of light, swirling slowly around and brightening the room just slightly.

"When I was little," Clary started, "I was totally obsessed with stars. Maybe it was because you can't see them well here. I don't know, but my Mom used to take me stargazing at a friend's outside the city." She paused and her voice grew quiet. "Those were some of my favorite times. Sometimes I use this stupid thing to remember that. What it felt like to lie under the stars and feel that peace again." She turned to Jace, and he looked at her, their faces so close their noses nearly touched. He could feel her breath fan across his cheeks when she spoke. "That sounds dumb, huh?"

"No." He moved his hand from his chest to the floor at his side. His fingers brushed hers in the process, but she didn't move her hand away.

For a moment, her eyes moved back and forth between his, looking at one and then the other. He wondered what she was searching for in them. "Thanks for staying with me," she said quietly, and then turned her gaze back up to the ceiling.

"That's okay, Spitfire. I have no problem being your white knight."

"I'm sure you don't." She snorted, a smile transforming her entire face as she looked back at him. "I can picture it now. You, riding in on your valiant steed, sweeping me up and throwing me over the back of your horse, then whisking me away to my castle."

He grinned. Lights swirled over her face, highlighting the smattering of freckles across her nose. He had a sudden impulse to trace his fingers over them. But he didn't. "Yes, and I'm quite sure you'd invite me up to your room in the tower, and insist on taking off my armor yourself."

She scowled. "Is that all you think about?"

"Pretty much."

"You know," Clary sighed and looked away, a small grin pulling at her lips, "you really are an enormous ass."

Jace chuckled and turned his attention back to the ceiling, watching as the bright lights twinkled over the plaster. "Yeah, I know."

* * *

_A wee bit of DJ-ish fluff? Yes? ;)_

_Another enormous thanks to LLWB for her excellent editing and awesome comments that made me LOL as I read them. You are totally made of awesomesauce, my Cobra partner. *smooches*_

_Until next week… xoxoxo ~ddpjclaf_

_Btw, did y'all see the Turbulence video? I made one for craps and giggles…it makes me miss TJ in a bad way. Sigh. A link is on my profile if you wanna watch. But beware, if you haven't finished Turbulence, you'll want to wait because it's SPOILERY. ;)_


	8. A Dream and a Lie

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**A Dream and a Lie**

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Was it a Dream – 30 Seconds to Mars_

_**Uninvited – Alanis Morisette_

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Across the street, hidden in the darkened corner of an adjacent building, a man stood under a green and white striped awning, his body shielded from the still falling rain and his eyes glued to the barely illuminated window of the apartment on the second floor. A black hoodie and baseball cap covered his head, while dark jeans concealed him into the night. He ran his tongue over his cracked, dry lips, and pulled his hat further onto his head, hiding his face from any passersby that may take an interest in him. So far, no one had and for that, he was glad. It would be best that no one associate him from ever having been there that night.

He knew he should leave and continue on with the rest of the evening he had planned, but for some reason he couldn't bear to turn his back. Curiosity on how she reacted weighed on him heavily. He wished he could have seen her face, the response she had as she first spied the eye and his words.

"Why are you still here?" A woman's voice rang out from the shadows.

The man turned toward the sound and smiled, his mouth hurting with the movement. He shrugged. "Why are _you_?"

She stepped under the pool of light cascading down from the streetlamp, her hair damp and clinging to her face. "Just finished up."

"Mmm," he said as he fished in his hoodie pocket for his cigarettes. Once he found them, he held them out to her, the package crinkling in his fingers.

She wrinkled her nose shook her head. "Those'll kill you, you know?"

He glanced at her sideways. "Considering my profession, do you really think I'm worried about that?"

She smirked and moved to stand beside him, her back against the brick wall and her breath floating on the breeze like puffs of smoke. Her eyes drifted to the glowing window and his followed, again filling his mind with questions.

A startling buzz from his pocket pulled him out of his thoughts. The woman frowned and looked at him. With a sigh, he stuck his hand into his jeans and wrapped his fingers around the vibrating object. Once he had it free of its denim confines, he flipped it open and placed it against his ear. The caller on the other end didn't even wait for him to respond.

"Is it done?" a voice spoke through the device just as a roll of thunder rumbled overhead.

"It is."

"Excellent," the voice hissed. The man swore he could hear a clicking sound in the background. It was familiar, but for some reason, he couldn't place it. "And the boy?"

"He wasn't there. Though, I believe he may be now."

"And your partner? Has she fulfilled her duties?"

His eyes shifted to her once more. She played with a curl of dark hair that dangled over her shoulder. "Yes, Sir."

"Then it's all going according to plan?"

"It seems so, yes." He paused and tapped one of his cigarettes into his hand then reached into his jeans and pulled out a lighter. "I don't understand something though." He lifted the cigarette to his mouth and flicked the lighter, burning the end and sucking in a long drag. "Why the girl?"

A long sigh drifted through the phone line. "We've already been over this. You know why."

"Tell me again."

"She's the key."

"Yeah, you said that, but the key to what?"

Silence stretched between them, the cracking of the thunder the only sound for several seconds. Finally, the voice on the other end of the line spoke again. "The key to breaking them both."

.o.O.o.

Clary's mind struggled to hold onto the dream. Above her stretched an endless expanse of twinkling lights embedded deep into the midnight sky. Laughter, rich and comforting, rang through the air, wrapping around her like an old, worn afghan, keeping her safe and warm. A voice called out to her, but Clary couldn't make out the words. What were they saying? She had a feeling they were significant, but try as she might, she couldn't hear them properly. She tried asking for the speaker to repeat, but she had no voice. Looking above she noticed the lights growing further and further away as if she was falling. The sensation grew and grew until darkness enveloped her, the vacuum effect still dragging her down into the deep, black crevice.

Panic rose into her chest and a scream lodged in her throat, unable to move past her voice box. Tears stung her eyes and she prayed to just let it all end. Suddenly she reached the bottom, her back against a hard surface, though she never felt herself hit. She expected pain and disconnect, but the only thing she felt was comfort. How could she be comfortable down in this black hole?

Slowly, sensations returned, the blackness receded, and a light glow spread over her vision. Beneath her hands, the hardness remained, but a layer of fluffy softness protected her body from it. Warmth radiated from the left of her, and the soothing pattering of rain sounded nearby.

Clary frowned, wondering why she couldn't see, and then realized she had her eyes closed. Blinking them open, she stared up at the ceiling, momentarily confused at the swirling lights moving overtop until she remembered she'd been lying under the star globe. She went to stretch and her arms brushed against something beside her. Or rather—someone. Turning her head slowly, her breath caught as her vision rested on him.

Jace was still there, his left hand tucked under his head, and his right laying at his side between them. His eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. Clary smiled at the realization that they'd both fallen asleep under the mock stars. _How cliché_, she thought to herself. She propped herself up on her elbow and glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the cable box. Ten-thirty. Still early, but she felt completely wiped.

Lying back down, she turned onto her side and looked over at Jace. She thought to herself that she should probably wake him and let him go home. Isabelle and Simon should be returning at any time, and she felt somewhat better now. But for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to do it, even though she knew he couldn't be comfortable lying on the hard floor. _In a few minutes_, she told herself. _I'll wake him in a few minutes_. Why she wasn't doing it now, she didn't know, but she just couldn't. Maybe she still felt a little scared. She couldn't deny that the message had shaken her. Someone had been in her house, in her bedroom, in her bathroom. The intent had been clear. It was a warning. She had no idea why anyone would be watching or warning her, but the fact that she didn't understand it didn't make it any less true.

Clary let out a deep breath at the same moment Jace did. She glanced up and noticed movement behind his eyelids. She wondered what in the world he could be dreaming of—and then she decided she probably really didn't want to know what went on in his mind. Knowing him—even in the very small way she did—it was probably something that involved minimal clothing and dirty language. Even with the knowledge of his assy ways floating around in her brain, she couldn't help but stare at him.

From the beginning, she'd been impressed with his physical appearance. All hard lines and bronzeness—who wouldn't be? But looking at him now, with his face relaxed and none of the cockiness evident in his features, he was beyond good looking . . . beautiful—stunning, really. It was more than the hotness she'd noticed before, but she couldn't put her finger on just what it was. He seemed—different, somehow, than he had when they'd first met in the back room of the club. Of course, he had been sucking face with that total skank, Aline, at the time. Clary was sure that colored her perception just a bit.

Clary rolled her eyes as she thought of how all the girls she worked with squealed over him when he came in. They called him Ten. Stupid nickname if they asked Clary. He did not look like a surfer, he looked like a— What the hell was she doing, staring at him and thinking about how good-looking he was? That sort of thinking made her no better than the skanks, and she was definitely better. He may have been a complete flirt and man-whore and gorgeous, but he was her . . . what was he? Her neighbor? An acquaintance, like she'd told her dad? Or was he her friend? Considering the things that had gone on between them since that night in the club, she'd have to say things leaned more toward the latter.

So, at the moment, and in order to make herself feel better about staring at him, she told herself it was about more than drooling over his looks, and more like—appreciating him as a whole. Even so, there was just something about the way his dark lashes touched and curled against the curve of his cheek, the soft, blond curls that tumbled over his head, and the chiseled physique of his body that made her unable to tear her eyes away. She shouldn't be looking. She shouldn't be allowing herself to see him that way, to think of him in any way beyond acquaintanceship or possibly friendship. He was not the sort of boy that would be good for her. Not with all of the mind games and player-esque attitude. But still . . . she looked. And then she looked some more.

She needed someone loyal, someone strong, someone caring. Someone with whom she could be herself and never worry about looking like a fool, or saying something that would totally turn them off her. Someone that could just be with her and not expect her to be anything other than what she was. She needed someone she could trust.

Her eyes drifted over Jace's face once more, dipping to follow the line of his shoulder and down his ink-covered arm. Not able to help herself, she tentatively traced her finger over the black, interlacing designs stretching over his bicep. He didn't move, not even when she shivered against the shock she received from the contact with his skin. He was so warm and so . . . alive. She wished she could touch him fully, to feel him under her hands, to learn the steady beat of his heart. God, she was so screwed. There was no denying the overwhelming attraction she had to him, or that she felt safe in his presence. Safer than she felt with anyone else—which was odd since they barely knew each other. But the fact of the matter was, even though she trusted him with her safety and well being, she highly doubted she could ever trust someone like him with her heart—no matter how much her own body seemed to want him. She'd just have to learn to tame her hormones around him.

Closing her eyes, Clary felt fatigue grip her once more. With a yawn, she forgot all about waking Jace, and instead, scooted closer, letting her palm wrap around his upper arm, and her forehead rest against his shoulder. For now, she'd overlook the fact that he was a naughty man-whore and just accept the calm his presence gave her. Tonight, he'd truly been her white knight—as cheesy at that sounded. When she'd needed someone to be there, he was. When she'd needed someone to stay, he did. And she would allow herself to be okay with letting him comfort her, to keep her safe. Because when tomorrow came, it would be back to the same old same old. She'd be her feisty, normal self, and he'd be a douchebag. Somehow, the normalcy and promise of that was soothing. But for the moment, he was just Jace—a boy asleep at her side under a fake starry sky—and she was just Clary—a girl who needed a little bit of rescuing. And that, in all its sweet simplicity, was perfectly all right with her.

.o.O.o.

"Jace!" A voice hissed into Jace's ear.

His eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up into Isabelle's scowling face. He blinked a couple of times, sure he was still dreaming—or perhaps having a nightmare since Izzy was towering over him. When she didn't disappear, he sighed. "What do you want? And why are you waking me up?"

"Because you're all snuggled up with a girl on my living room floor." She shoved her toe into his side, making him flinch away from the sensation. "Now get up and explain to me what this is all about."

Jace frowned and was about to ask her what she was talking about, when he heard a small sigh and felt the warmth of breath against his arm. He turned his head to the side, his sight taking in the expanse of red hair and pale, freckled skin pressed up next to him. A hand rested limply over his bicep, and her head leaned against him. He raised his brows and felt a small tremor rock through him. Looking up, he met Isabelle's suspicious eyes.

"This isn't want it looks like," he offered, not quite sure why he felt the need to explain himself, it wasn't like he ever had before. But for some reason, he didn't want anyone having the wrong idea.

Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. "Well, exactly what is it then, Jace?"

He raised a finger to his mouth, indicating he wanted her to be quiet, and carefully reached over, grasping Clary's tiny hand in his and removing it carefully from him. She let out a quiet whimper and reached out for him again, but he managed to roll away in time. A small frown-line appeared between her brows, but she didn't wake.

Jace stood to his feet and gestured for Isabelle to follow him. She complied, but not without huffing to let him know her annoyance. Once they reached the kitchen, Jace whipped around to face Isabelle.

"Where the hell were you tonight?" he whisper-shouted.

Isabelle drew back in surprise. "What? You know where I was. Keeping up this stupid college kid charade!"

"Until," he glanced at the clock on the microwave, "midnight? None of your classes go that late."

"Well," she shuffled her feet uncomfortably, "I had coffee with a classmate afterward. What? So, now I can't have a life?"

Jace felt the anger he'd been holding back all night build inside him. He'd squashed it deep inside in an effort not to scare Clary. Not even letting himself think about what might have happened had she been home when the person had broken in, because if he had, she would have noticed how much it unnerved him. He reached out and pointed to the living room where Clary still slept. "Not when we have a subject with stalker issues. Where the hell is your head, Isabelle? I can't be the only one concerned about this. She'd think _I_ was a stalker if I trailed her all the time. You live here for a reason, and it's not only to gather information, but to keep her protected too."

Isabelle leaned into him, her face turning red. "Don't be such an ass, Jace. God, Alec was right. You are obsessed. We have no idea if those messages were even meant for her. There's no proof."

Jace was taken aback for a moment, wondering how she knew what he and Alec had talked about earlier in the evening, before he came to the conclusion that he really didn't care. "Oh, no?" Jace grabbed Isabelle's arm and dragged her down the hall to Clary's room.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Isabelle wrenched her arm away once they'd reached Clary's bathroom.

Jace walked immediately to the tub and turned the shower on all the way to hot. Isabelle shot him a questioning look, and he shook his head, pointing to the mirror. "Wait."

She turned her eyes toward the sink and they both watched while the room filled with steam. Slowly, as the moisture built on the smooth glass surface, a shape and words appeared. A gasp escaped Isabelle lips and she raised her hands to cup over her mouth.

"You still think we have nothing to worry about?" He narrowed his eyes.

Isabelle lowered her hand and shook her head, but her mouth still stayed ajar.

"Maybe if you both stopped looking for reasons to point fingers at me for being obsessed, you'd actually find yourselves able to do your job."

Jace turned off the water and moved to the mirror, leaning in closer and lifting a finger to swipe over the letters. Pulling his hand away, he rubbed his pointer finger and thumb together. "It's oil based." He glanced around, seeing nothing that might have been used. Crouching down, he opened the door under the sink, spying a bottle of baby oil half hidden under a stack of towels. He looked up at Isabelle. "Great police work, huh? They didn't even take the bottle. I doubt they even looked under here." He growled, trying to suppress the urge to slam the cupboard door shut. "New York's finest."

Isabelle looked at him, her eyes wide. "The police were here? Did they find our bugs?"

Jace stood, shaking his head. "I highly doubt it, seeing as they didn't even take the oil." Pulling out his phone, Jace pressed the number two on his speed dial. Alec answered after one ring.

"Jace, where have you been?" he asked.

"I told you, out. Listen, do me a favor."

Alec huffed. "Why should I do anything for you? You acted like a huge jerk earlier."

Jace rolled his eyes. "Alec, I always act like a jerk. How was this time different from any other?"

"I don't know," Alec said quietly. "It just was."

Jace pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Fine, you're mad at me. I get it. But can we deal with that later? This has to do with the case."

"What about it?" Alec's voice turned interested and businesslike.

"Someone broke into Clary and Isabelle's apartment and left Clary a message."

"What? Really? When?"

"I don't know. Sometime today when no one was here. Listen," Jace cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear, while grabbing a stray plastic bag he'd found under Clary's sink and collected the baby oil bottle. "I need you to listen to the tapes from today—up to about nine. See if you get anything we can go off from them."

"Yeah, all right." He paused. "You, uh, you coming back soon?"

"I don't know." Jace glanced up at Isabelle. "If your sister can figure out how to do her job correctly, possibly."

Isabelle narrowed her eyes and flipped him the bird.

Jace grinned.

"Okay. I'll get on that. See you when you get back."

"Yep." Jace ended the call, tied the top of the bag, and handed it to Isabelle.

She took it and looked up at him sheepishly. "Sorry I wasn't here. I should have been."

"Yeah, you should have." Jace pushed past her and exited Clary's room, making his way back to the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Isabelle said when she joined him, the bag gone. "But, none of us knew this was for real. I mean, how would we?"

"Because, Izzy, we have to treat everything like it's real. That's our job! We can't go around dismissing things without knowing for sure we can." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just—I don't understand you and Alec. You've been so caught up in how fair this all is to Clary that you haven't been taking the job seriously."

"And you're taking it seriously? Is that what you call what I walked in on tonight?"

Jace took a step forward, narrowing his eyes. "Do you want to know what you walked in on?"

"I can guess," Isabelle huffed.

Jace let out a breathy laugh. "Oh, right, because you've been so good at guessing the motivations behind anything lately." He paused, gritting his teeth against his frustration. "What you walked in on was me doing my job." He gestured toward the living room. "Someone had broken into her house and she was here all alone, scared, and she asked me to stay. She didn't want to be by herself. What would you have me do, Izzy? Leave her like that and chance someone coming while she was home alone?"

"No, but that doesn't mean you have to snuggle up to her."

"That . . . I told you that wasn't how it looked. Nothing happened. We just talked and then fell asleep. That's it. She must have rolled into me in her sleep. We didn't start out that way."

Isabelle eyed him for several seconds, the charcoal daggers softening the longer she looked, before sighing. "As stupid as this might be, I actually believe you."

Jace crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You should. I'm telling the truth."

"You can't honestly blame me for thinking otherwise can you, Jace? I mean, with your track record and all—"

"What's going on in here?" Clary's voice sounded from the opening to the kitchen.

Jace turned his gaze toward her. More hair had escaped from her braid and the curls from earlier frizzed against her face. Her eyes were big and bright against the paleness of her skin. The strap of her camisole had shifted and lay across her upper arm instead of her shoulder.

"Nothing," Isabelle said, and moved toward Clary. "Jace told me what happened. Are you okay? I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I went out for coffee and—"

Clary held up her hand. "I'm fine. I was just a little spooked, but I'm okay now." Her eyes drifted to Jace and she smirked. "Your cousin kept me entertained."

Jace grinned back then turned to Isabelle, his brow raised as if to say, "See?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Yes, well, if there's one thing Jace is good at it's entertaining the ladies."

"This is true." Jace nodded. "Though, I must say that stargazing is not among the many ways I have occupied the fairer sex in the past."

"I couldn't have guessed," Clary said. "Well, now you can add it to your repertoire." She leaned into him and whispered, "Believe me, you'll have them eating out of your hand."

He moved in closer and winked. "I already do, Spitfire."

Before Clary had a chance to respond, a loud crash echoed throughout the apartment and the room plunged into darkness. Clary yelped and Jace felt her grab onto him and throw her arms around his neck. A low rumble followed and the pitter of rain increased against the windows. Flashes of light illuminated the apartment for fractions of seconds before everything turned black once again.

"It's just thunder," Jace whispered into Clary's hair as she trembled against him.

"Damn it," Isabelle swore as a loud thumping, which sounded a lot like her running into the wall, reverberated through the kitchen. "I've got some candles in my room. I'll be right back."

"Jesus, I'm sorry" Clary panted, lowering her face to Jace's shoulder for a moment, her grip around his neck never loosening. "I'm acting like such a girl."

Jace chuckled. "You are a girl." His hand slid across her back, the fabric from her top lifting slightly and his fingers grazing soft, warm flesh. He thought he should probably pull away, but not a single cell inside him wanted to. She felt good there, encircled in his arms.

"Yeah, but I don't normally act so—"

Clary turned her face at the same moment Jace turned his, and with the softest of barely there touches, her lips brushed over the corner of his mouth. Her breath caught for a second before she let it out, the shaking warmth flowing over his cheeks. Electricity pulsed in the millimeters between them, begging for a connection neither of them seemed ready to make. Jace knew he couldn't let things get out of control in this way with her. She was his assignment. His job. He couldn't let his hormonal side compromise what he was there to do. But before he had the chance to distance himself, Clary's fingers curled into the back of his neck and she leaned forward just slightly, pressing her lips to his, sweetly, gently, in just a whisper of a touch.

Jace's entire body stiffened at first contact, but the longer she lingered, her warmth flowing around him, the more he melted into her. Each of his muscles relaxed, one by one, the draw to her breaking through every barrier he'd constructed around himself.

This kiss was unlike any he'd experienced before. Normally, they were hard, passionate, lustful. But this . . . this was something else entirely. Their mouths stayed soft and closed against each other, and if it weren't for the searing heat running through him, it could have almost been a kiss between friends. He was hyper aware of her fingers twisting carefully into the hair at the nape of his neck, the inches of space pulsating between their bodies, and the warmth of her mouth as it lingered on his. His hand twitched against her back and he felt the muscles in his arms contract involuntarily to pull her in closer. Clary didn't resist and allowed her body to curve into his.

"God, finally, I found them." Isabelle's voice rang out from the hallway.

Jace wrenched back, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the process. A dull glow from the candle in Isabelle's hand drifted into the room. Clary stood in the same spot they'd both occupied seconds before, her eyes wide and two of her fingers held over her mouth. Jace swallowed against the erratic pounding of his heart and met Isabelle's eyes. Her brows furrowed as her gaze moved between them.

"Did I miss something?" she asked.

"No," Jace and Clary answered in unison.

The creases in Isabelle's forehead grew deeper.

"No," Clary repeated. "I just had a total scared girl moment there when the lights went out and embarrassingly threw myself at him." She turned to Jace, her eyes unreadable.

"Yes, well," Jace found his voice and shifted on his feet, "throwing yourself at me was inevitable at some point."

Isabelle rolled her eyes and handed Jace one of the long, white candles in her hand. Lighting it with the burning one, she said. "You'll need this to not kill yourself on the way back upstairs." Her eyes met his and she narrowed them slightly as if she had some clue as to what just happened between him and Clary.

"I suppose that's my not so subtle cue to exit." He let his gaze shift from Isabelle to Clary before leaning into Izzy once more. "Don't screw up again," he whispered.

Isabelle scowled and pushed him away from her. "Go home."

Jace moved around her, and hesitated in front of Clary. "You'll be safe here with Isabelle." A strange vibe moved between them and he didn't know what to do to make it go away.

Clary avoided his eyes and nodded. "I'll walk you out." Her voice was flat as she turned toward the door.

Jace looked at Isabelle and she raised her brows in question. He waved her off and followed Clary down the front hall. She reached out and wrapped her hand around the doorknob, froze, and then whipped around to face him. Jace steeled himself against what was coming. He knew he'd screwed up and he needed to fix it.

"Look," she said with a sigh and lifted her hand to her forehead. "I, uh . . . I'm—"

"Shhh," Jace said, lifting a finger to press against her lips. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."

She looked up at him, her eyes widening as she took him in. "I don't?"

"Of course you don't." He moved his hand to cup her cheek and smoothed his thumb over her mouth. Her eyes closed and her breath came out unevenly. Leaning in, he ran his nose along her jaw and whispered close to her ear, "You've been a good sport, Spitfire, and you've held out as long as you could. Much longer than most, actually."

Clary's eyes snapped open and she backed away, though not far enough to make his fingers fall from her face. "What?" Fire sparked in her eyes.

"What do you mean, 'what'? You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"No," she shook her head and moved another step back, "I don't. Why don't you explain it to me?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited.

Jace leaned his shoulder against the wall and peered down at her, his mouth pulling into a sly grin. "I'm irresistible to women. Sooner or later, they all want a taste."

Clary's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut, her nostrils flaring.

Jace knew then, he'd done it. He reached out and twisted the knob, pulling the door open before she could tell him to leave or smack him. "See you around, Spitfire."

Before Clary could respond, he stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind him. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, his hand still clutching the knob for a few moments before letting it go. That candle he held illuminated only the space immediately around him and the hot wax dripped onto his hand. Making his way down the hall and then up the stairs, Jace fought with himself to push aside thoughts about what had happened that night. There was no use on him dwelling on the sound of her laughter as she lay beside him, gazing up into a sea of fake stars. And there really was no point in thinking about how warm and soft her lips felt against his, and how easy it had been to hold her in his arms.

The strangeness he'd felt earlier in the evening returned. Only this time it was stronger, more potent. Shaking his head against the feeling, Jace started down his hall, pausing just outside the door when he spied a crumpled up piece of paper lying on the floor. Normally, he wouldn't bother with a piece of trash, but something that peeked from the inside made him stop, his stomach lurching. Squatting down, he picked it up and pulled the wad apart, smoothing it over the thigh of his jeans. He held the candle flame just above it, his eyes refusing to accept what he saw.

A crude drawing of an eye, much like the one on Clary's mirror, stared out at him. It had the same shape and it was obvious it had been drawn by the same hand, but what made this one different was that the eye wasn't open. It was closed. Beneath it, a phrase, written in script reminiscent of chicken scratch, scrawled across the page.

Jace closed his eyes, his fist tightening around the paper. But no matter how hard he squeezed his lids shut, the words still appeared behind them, threatening, waiting, taunting.

_You can't watch her all the time._

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* * *

_

_*hides under a rock with DJ and our flame-retardant suits*_

_Yeah, I'm sure there are some not happy people right about now, yes? Aww, don't be too hard on me-remember, everything happens for a reason. Everything. And, well, I have no excuse for DJ, he's just...DJ! ;) As much as you want to smack him, admit it, you want to do what Clary did and more. You know you do._

_LLWB, you rock, are made of awesomesauce, and I *heart* you. Thank you for all your hard work! *smooches*  
_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	9. More

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**8. More**

_Hope FFn stops spazzing enough for y'all to read!_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**In My Head – Jason Derulo_

_**You Wanted More – Tonic_

_**All the Same – Sick Puppies_

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Lights swirled over the dance floor as Clary stood in the middle, swinging her hips to the thrumming beat. The rhythm pulsed and rose in tempo. Vibrations flowed through her. Bodies danced around the floor, but Clary gave them no notice. Only the movement and sensations of her own held her attention.

Something shifted in her peripheral, causing her to turn toward it. A small smile graced her lips as a dark-haired boy moved to stand in front of her. He was cute. A messy mop of hair graced his head, while piercing green eyes stared out at her. His features were sharp and fox-like. A clear distinction from the stunning looks of the one she didn't want to think about.

The boy reached for her hand and pulled her closer while still maintaining enough distance between them to not be inappropriate. Clary allowed her body to match his movements. He swayed from side to side, and she tried to inch closer, wanting some sort of contact, but he continued to hold her at arm's length. She furrowed her brows, wondering what his problem was.

The words to ask spilled into her mouth and were just about to cross her lips when she felt a shock of heat tear through her. Clary shivered against the sensation. Rough, warm hands cupped her hips and she felt her body being pulled backward against another person. For some reason, she didn't resist. It was almost as if she couldn't. The small, fine hairs on her neck stood on end and a tingling washed over her skin when a voice whispered in her ear.

"You know he's not the one you want, Spitfire."

Clary closed her eyes and leaned into the one holding her from behind. His hands gripped her hips while he moved with her, his mouth hovering so close to the skin just below her ear. Whispers she couldn't understand trailed down her neck.

The dark-haired boy was all but forgotten as Clary allowed herself to be drawn into the moment. She knew she shouldn't, knew he couldn't give her more than this, but she couldn't seem to refuse his draw. Everything about him made her absolutely desperate. The way he looked. The way he spoke. The way he made her feel. Her body begged her to give in, to allow him to touch, to allow herself to touch, to feel, to enjoy.

Twisting ever so slightly, Clary turned toward him. His eyes met hers, the brightest gold against the black of the room. The lights from above shone onto his hair, making a glowing circle appear above it like a halo. But she knew he was nowhere near an angel—possibly a fallen one, she guessed. He was bad. So, very, very bad, and the thought of this made her ache in ways she knew she shouldn't.

She wanted his hands on her, his body against hers. Reaching up, she ran her palms over his chest, feeling the definition of muscle beneath the thin fabric. When she reached the open collar, she fisted the material and pulled him into her. A sly grin tugged at one corner of his mouth and he reached around her, dragging her flush against him. Clary's breath hitched when she felt their bodies collide. Sparks of heat erupted over her like miniature volcanoes spilling boiling, hot lava onto her flesh.

Jace's fingers splayed against the bareness of her back, eliciting tiny shocks where their skin touched. His other hand ran up her spine and settled at the base of her neck. Clary felt her entire being relax into him. His arms felt so good and right, even though she knew it was so wrong. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she let him lead her. Goosebumps prickled over her flesh, not only in response to the cool temperature of the room, but also to the feel of him so close to her.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a warning nagged at her subconscious. It seemed to be telling her this wasn't a good idea. But why? Why would something that felt so incredibly good, be wrong? His body and hers fit together so flawlessly. They moved in sync like they were molded from the same clay but had finally just found each other. No matter what the voice in her head was trying to tell her, she wanted more, needed more.

As if he could read her mind, his hand left her neck and trailed down to her hip. His fingers traced along her outer thigh, a touch so soft it could have been a feather brushing against her skin. Without warning, he grasped her knee in a quick motion and pulled her leg up to drape over his hip. Clary's head dropped back in response to the added pressure of his hips against hers, and he lowered his mouth to the base of her neck. His lips were so warm and soft touching her chilled flesh.

_Clary_, a voice echoed around her. She couldn't distinguish where it was coming from or to whom the voice belonged, but she didn't really care. Clary raised her hands to Jace's hair and grabbed two fistfuls, holding his face against her skin. His grip on her knee tightened, sending currents of want racing through her.

_Clary_, the voice said again, though this time it was louder and closer. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Jace stopped what he was doing and looked up, his brows pinched in confusion.

Clary peered back at him, her breath ragged and her heart ready to burst out of her chest. She pulled his face to her, their foreheads touching. "Don't stop. For the love of God, don't stop."

He smirked and leaned in to take her mouth with his.

"Clary!"

She jolted, her head slipping from its place perched on her hand, and nearly smacked her face on the table. Blinking against the fogginess in her head, Clary took in her surroundings. She sat in the University library, books spread out across the table in front of her. With a sigh, she glanced up and met Simon's amused eyes.

"What?" she asked crossly, feeling more than a little flustered at the moment, though she really didn't know why.

"You know you talk in your sleep, right?" Simon smirked. "Oh, and you drool." He tapped the side of his mouth.

"No I—" Clary wiped at the corner of her lips and noticed the dampness there. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Shut up."

He snorted and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "You're lucky I woke you. It sounded like things were getting pretty heated inside that little head of yours."

Clary's face burned. "Wh—what did I say?"

"Something like 'don't stop,' or whatever. But that was nothing compared to all the gasps and squeaks coming out of your mouth." Simon narrowed his eyes. "Who were you dreaming about anyway? Your face is all red and sweaty."

"I—" A chill crawled up Clary's back as she faintly remembered the feel of hands on her skin, a body pressed up against hers, and the ghost of a sly grin. "I, uh, I don't really remember."

"You don't remember what?" Maia plopped down into the chair next to Simon and across from Clary. She pulled her navy backpack onto the table and started to remove the books from inside.

"Clary's having sex dreams in the library."

"Simon!" Clary felt her face flame once more, and then she lowered her voice. "I am not having sex dreams."

"I thought you said you didn't remember?"

"I—I don't. But I would know if I had a sex dream or not, and I didn't."

"Who's having sex dreams?" Isabelle came up behind Clary and released the pile of books in her arms with a thud, and settled next to Clary.

Clary groaned and dropped her forehead to the table, the coolness of the smooth wood feeling good on her overheated skin. Simon laughed and she looked up to glare at him before turning to Isabelle. "No one." She gestured to the stack of hardcover volumes Isabelle had brought over. "What are you doing?"

"Research project." Isabelle sighed. "It sucks ass." She waved her hands in front of her face. "But enough about boring stuff like research, I wanna hear about this sex dream."

"It wasn't a sex dream!" Clary said a little too loudly. Heads turned toward her and a few hissed "Shh's" drifted throughout the space.

"Oh." Isabelle frowned. "That's too bad. Those are always the best." She winked at Simon, whose jaw had now found a permanent place against the wood table.

Clary sighed. "Can we stop talking about my sex dreams and focus on something else?"

"See?" Simon said. "Told ya she was dreaming about sex."

Clary picked up her sketchpad and threw it at him. It bounced off his head and landed on the floor, several loose sheets fluttering aimlessly around it until they, too, lay on the carpet.

"Ow!" He rubbed at his temple. "I was just teasing, jeez."

"Well, go tease someone else."

"Since when have you gotten so violent? I think I'm bleeding." Simon turned to Maia. "Am I bleeding? If I am, I'm claiming abuse."

Maia pulled his hand away from his forehead and scowled. "No. There's not even a mark. God, you're such a baby."

"Well, it hurt," he pouted.

Clary sighed and started gathering her things. She wasn't in the mood for this right now. She shoved her papers into her bag and picked up her stack of books. Standing, she draped the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. Isabelle reached up and grabbed Clary's arm.

"Hey, where're you going?"

"I have to work tonight so I need to get home and get ready."

Isabelle studied her carefully, but Clary avoided her eyes and turned, making her way toward the desk near the front doors. She'd been evading Isabelle since the night before. Since after she'd kissed Jace. She knew Isabelle had no way of knowing what had happened between them, and if she asked Jace, he would probably say it was nothing anyway, but for some reason she felt weird about it.

Clary reached the check-out counter and slid the stack of book across to the librarian. She dug into her purse and took out her library card, swiping it through the reader next to the computer. As she stood there, she contemplated what she was going to do about this now.

When she'd actually kissed him, it hadn't been about romance. Honestly, she didn't know what it was. She'd just felt like doing it, so she did it. She didn't expect the conflicting feelings she had afterward.

His response wasn't surprising to her, but that didn't mean it didn't sting. Maybe, somewhere in the back of her deluded mind, she'd been hoping he'd be different with her. He didn't treat her the same as she'd seen him treat any other girls. Yeah, maybe he flirted with her just like he did with them, but that was just who he was, and she knew this. She never let herself put more meaning on any of that than there was. But last night, he'd looked at her in a way he hadn't before. When she'd kissed him, he'd kissed her back, and it hadn't been rushed, or lusty, or . . . anything like that. He hadn't pushed her away, and he hadn't tried to make it more. It just . . . was what it was.

When Isabelle had arrived back in the kitchen with the candle, Clary could finally see his face, and the look on it startled her. He didn't look smug, or self satisfied, he looked—shocked and possibly even a little conflicted himself. But that only lasted for a few seconds and then it was gone. Replaced once more by the smooth as stone façade he always wore. Maybe she'd imagined she'd seen anything else anyway. It was entirely possible given her state of mind at the time.

The librarian placed Clary's books into a bag and handed them over to her. Clary thanked her and went to turn around, but instead, ran smack into Simon's chest, nearly losing her grip on the bag.

"Jesus, Si!" Clary thrust her hand over her heart. "You scared me."

He looked at her suspiciously. "What's going on with you?"

Clary straightened and started toward the exit. "I don't know what you mean." She pushed open the doors and walked out into the crisp fall breeze. Her hair lifted and fluttered around her head before falling back to her shoulders. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, reveling in the crisp scent of leaves and chill.

Simon reached out and placed his hand on her arm, turning her to face him. "Come on, I'm your best friend. I know when something isn't right, and something isn't right."

She rolled her eyes and continued toward the street. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out I'd be disturbed about something, Simon. I mean, someone is leaving me creepy messages and broke into our house."

"Yeah, I know. But . . . this is something else. I can feel it."

Clary groaned and turned to him. He'd always been able to read her better than anyone else. "I don't really want to tell you."

"Why not?" He looked hurt.

"Because." Clary lowered her gaze to the ground and bit her lip. "You'll be mad."

"I won't be mad. Now just spill."

Clary took in a deep breath and looked up. His face conveyed only concern. She knew if she was going to tell anyone it would be him. "I kissed Jace."

"WHAT?"

"See!" She flung her hand in Simon's direction. "I told you you'd be mad." Spinning on her heel, she started back across the quad.

"Wait. Wait. Just—wait a second." Simon jogged up to her.

"I don't want to wait, Simon. I'm going to be late for work."

"I'm not . . . mad. I'm just . . ." He growled in frustration. "I don't understand, Clary. Why would you kiss him? I mean, he's . . ."

"A manwhore?" Clary stopped and turned toward him. "Thanks, Si, but I already got that memo."

"Well, I was going to say douchebag, but manwhore works just the same."

Clary rolled her eyes and continued walking.

"Just tell me why."

Clary shook her head. "I don't know. I just . . . felt like it." She reached up and rubbed her forehead.

Simon sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Listen, I'm fully aware that you can kiss whoever you want. I just—I don't want you to get hurt, and Jace . . ." He sighed again. "Do you like, _like_ him or something?"

"No." She shook her head and laughed. It wasn't funny, but she couldn't help it. "There are parts of him I like, I guess."

"Yeah, I'm sure there are," Simon mumbled.

"Shut up!" Clary smacked him. "I don't mean like physical things—because I like all of those." Simon made a gagging sound. "I mean . . . there are parts to him that I see sometimes—you know, when he's not acting like a douche—where I see a decent guy." She shrugged. "I like that guy. But I don't know who the real him is. Is he the decent guy? Or is he the dirty, whoring, asstard?"

Simon twisted his lips up and peered back at her. "I'm voting for the latter."

"Well, it really doesn't matter anyway."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he made it clear to me that I'm not anyone he's interested in—in that way."

"What? What did he say? Do you want me to punch him? Because I will, you know. No matter how much it hurts, and how much I'm pretty sure he'd win, I will."

Clary waved him off. "He didn't really say anything. It was just . . . he just brushed it off. It's no big deal." Her voice trailed off.

"Yeah, it really sounds like it."

"Simon? Can we . . ." She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. "Can we just not talk about this? I—I just want to forget about it, okay? I feel stupid enough as it is."

He paused and reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. "Okay, but let me just say one last thing."

She groaned and rolled her eyes before meeting his.

"If he dismissed you so easily, well, then he's a bigger asshat than I've given him credit for, and I'll have to amend that pronto."

Clary couldn't stop the small smile that formed on her lips. She reached out and hugged his arm. "Thanks, Si. You're the best."

He sighed as if he was burdened. "I know. It's really exhausting being so awesome all the time."

.o.O.o.

The solid surface of the track beneath Jace's feet was a welcome distraction to the thoughts bombarding his mind. With each step, every shock that shot up his leg reminded him of the here and now, and helped him to focus. After staying awake nearly all night, he'd arrived early at the gym. Working out always seemed to help in the past, but it wasn't entirely effective today. Worries surrounding the cryptic messages had plagued him throughout the night, and still occupied most of his brain space this morning. What wasn't being taken over by that was consumed by thoughts of Clary and what happened between them.

He'd been an idiot to let himself get that close to her. Rarely did anyone see the side to him that he'd shown Clary. After she'd kissed him in that way—a way no one had ever kissed him before—he knew he had to squash it quickly. She could not, under any circumstances, fall for him. He told himself it was for her own good, considering the job he was there to do. When she found out, she would hate them all, but at least—if she didn't get close enough to him to be more than just acquaintances, friends at the most—it wouldn't be quite as bad. At least that's what he told himself. But, there was just something about her that made him drop all his defenses. Something he couldn't afford to do. For her sake and his.

After he'd completed his five mile run, Jace stopped at the starting line of the track, bent over, placed his hands on his knees and took in several deep breaths. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the turf below.

"Jace," Alec called from behind him.

Jace straightened and turned, swiping his forearm across his forehead.

Alec stopped just in front of him. "Hodge wants to see us."

"Now?"

"Well, as soon as you're done." Alec followed Jace to the bench next to the track. "Isabelle's at the school anyway so it'll take her a few to get here."

Jace picked up his water bottle and sprayed a cool stream into his mouth, swished it around, and spat it on the ground before taking a real drink. "Did he say what it was for? I just met with him a few days ago."

Alec shook his head. "Not specifically. I think he just wants a status check."

"Can't he just call?" Jace peeled his soaked shirt from his body and lifted the bottle, squirting the remainder of the contents onto his head. Alec averted his gaze and bit the inside of his mouth uncomfortably. Stuffing the shirt into his bag, Jace stood and started toward the locker rooms, pretending not to notice Alec's reaction.

"I don't know, Jace. He probably wants to talk so there can be no way anyone will overhear. You know how paranoid the Agency is. Hodge, especially."

"I guess." Jace paused just outside the door, his hand gripping the handle. "Listen, don't mention anything to Hodge about the messages."

Alec furrowed his brow. "Why not? Don't you think he should know?"

"Yes, but not yet. I want a little more time to dig on our own."

"But don't you think we'd have a better chance of catching whoever this is if we had more help?"

Jace shrugged. "Not necessarily. What if this stalker catches on to the added man power and we lose him? No, I think we need to keep the knowledge of this as small as possible—at least for the time being."

"Oh," Alec frowned. "I hadn't thought of that."

"That's what you've got me for." Jace cocked a grin. "Beauty and brains." He shook his head wistfully. "I know, it seems unfair, but it is what it is."

Alec rolled his eyes. "I'll meet you out by the gym."

Jace pulled open the doors and walked into the locker room. He moved to the locker area, stripped out of his clothes, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After stowing all his belongings, he moved to the wall of showers in the back. Thankfully, no one else was there. Not that he cared all that much when there was, he just preferred the quiet solitude when the room was empty.

He removed the towel and draped it over the tiled half-wall before stepping over to the faucets. Standing out of the way, he turned it on as hot as it could go, waiting for it to heat up before adjusting the temperature accordingly. The initial sting of the water against his flesh caused him to wince, but became more and more soothing as he let it flow over him. He dropped his head and pressed one hand against the wall, leaning most of his weight onto it. Streams ran through his hair and down his face to pool on the floor. Goosebumps rose on the exposed flesh of his back against the cool air of the room. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Jace was exhausted, not just physically, but mentally as well. The pieces to the puzzle he was trying to solve didn't seem to add up or fit together.

From what he could gather, Clary wasn't the type to date a lot, so having this person be an angry ex seemed unlikely. Her father's "business associates" could definitely be players in this scheme, but which ones? He had literally dozens that could stoop to these types of measures. And then there was the man himself—or his son. These seemed the most likely to Jace, but as he'd learned while training at the Academy, most often than not, the most likely suspect is the least likely to have done it. Not always, but most of the time.

But then there was the kicker—why would any of these people want to stalk or threaten Clary? She knew nothing, had nothing to offer them. Her father didn't seem to care about what happened to her unless it somehow harmed him. It made absolutely no sense.

Jace scrubbed his hands over his face, turned and tilted his head back into the spray, running his fingers through his hair. As he scrubbed the rest of his body with soap, he breathed out in frustration. Nothing added up and nothing made sense. There had to be something he was missing. There just had to be.

He thrust his fist into the wall, stabs of pain shooting up his arm. "What the hell am I missing?" he said to himself. "Damn it."

He twisted the knobs roughly and the water slowed to a drizzle. After rubbing the towel over his hair and body, he wrapped it around his waist once more and moved back out into the locker area. He quickly dressed, threw his towel into a bin next to the door, and went out to meet Alec.

Jace found him sitting in one of the chairs in the common room near the front of the gym. His eyes were cast on the television, some sort of sport being played on the screen, but Alec's eyes were glazed over as if he was deep in thought.

Jace leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "What're you thinking?"

Alec's gaze snapped to Jace and he shook his head slightly. "Nothing. Well, not really."

Jace raised his brows and Alec groaned. "Okay, well, remember when I told you I didn't find anything on the tapes?

Jace nodded.

"I've been thinking about that and I think maybe I over simplified something."

"Like what?" Jace asked and pushed away from the wall, coming to sit next to Alec.

"Well, at one point I heard the click of the lock. I thought nothing of it because it could have been any one of them."

Jace nodded.

Alec furrowed his brows. "But, while I've been waiting for you," he turned his eyes to Jace, "I was thinking about that moment and I realized something." He paused. "The silence."

Jace waited and when Alec didn't say anything else, Jace said, "Okay, I'm not following."

Alec turned toward him and his eyes lit up. "After that click of the door unlocking there was nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no shuffling of papers or dangling of keys. Just . . . silence." He grinned. "Whoever it was tried really hard not to be heard."

"There was no evidence of the lock being picked. I checked for that . . ." Jace looked up and met Alec's gaze. Jace's brows shot up in realization. "You know what this means right?"

Alec nodded, the pleasure at figuring something out still gleamed in his eyes.

Jace stood and grabbed his bag, throwing it over his shoulder as he hurried for the doors. "Whoever's doing this has a key."

.o.O.o.

The flashing lights in the club made the inkling of the headache throbbing behind Clary's eyes infinitely worse. The lack of sleep was really starting to wear on her. She stifled a yawn and called her order to Kaelie behind the bar. Closing her eyes, she rested her elbow on the counter and her forehead on her palm. She drew in a deep breath and let it out, trying her hardest to focus on work and not the complete ass she'd made of herself the night before. Why, after everything that had happened, she was focusing on that, she didn't know. But now that she'd had more time to think it over, she felt really stupid.

"Well, well, Little Star!" A voice said behind her.

Clary turned toward it and smiled. "Sebastian. I haven't seen you in here in a few weeks."

He shrugged. "I've been busy." Leaning against the counter, he grinned up at her. "You miss me?"

"Of course I did." She mimicked his posture. "Are you flyin' solo or . . ."

"Well, solo in a sense, but I'm meeting a friend—oh, there he is, now." Sebastian pointed toward the club entrance.

Over the heads of the gyrating crowd, Clary spied a head of golden hair make its way through the dancers. Her heart thudded hard in her chest. She wasn't ready to see him yet. But ready or not, he emerged through the throng, and on his arm was a big-busted blonde. She clung to him, pushing her chest against him as she leaned in, running a black painted fingernail down his chest. His head was down, a flirty smirk plastered on his mouth.

Clary sucked in a breath, trying her hardest to push back the heat flaring up inside her. Never before had she wanted to be violent toward another female. But in that moment, she felt like peeling each one of blondie's perfect fingers back, snapping them off and feeding them to her. Jace looked up, finally, and met Clary's eyes. His smile faltered slightly.

Clary rolled her eyes and moved her gaze back to Sebastian. "I have to get back to work. We should get together sometime, you know, to reminisce about the old days when we used to play in that plastic pool in our diapers."

Sebastian smiled. "I'd like that."

She turned and had taken three steps when she felt someone grab her arm.

"Clary—"

She whipped around and saw Jace standing behind her. Ripping her arm out of his grasp, she narrowed her eyes. "What do you want, Jace? I'm sorta busy here." She waved her hand toward the crowded club. His eyes followed her motion.

"I just wanted to see if you were all right. No more messages?"

She shook her head and laughed under her breath, the anger in her chest pushing up into her throat. "I'm fine, and no, no more messages. You're officially off 'Clary babysitting duty' tonight." She lifted her chin in the direction of the blonde waiting for him at the bar. "Go and enjoy your . . . date."

Clary turned away from him once more, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath as she walked. She didn't know why she felt so angry. Just the sight of that girl with her hands all over him made her want to punch someone in the face. She didn't even know why she felt this way. He'd made it clear that he didn't see her in any sort of romantic way, so she had no right to feel like this at all. But her heart didn't seem to be able to comprehend the truth. Plus, he'd led her on with all his sexiness and flirting. She had a right to be pissed and she was exercising that right.

Jace grabbed her arm again. She noticed he never held it tightly, just enough to get her attention. "Clary, what the hell is with you?"

Again, she pulled away from him. "Jace, can you just leave me alone? I'm—I'm feeling a little, okay, _a lot_ pissed right now, and if you don't leave me alone, I may try out that move where I elbow you in the face again."

His face hardened and his lips pressed together in a thin line. Clary couldn't help but stare at them, wanting to press hers to them again. God, she was weak—and pathetic. "I'm willing to risk it." He reached down and took her hand, pulling her through the crowd toward the back of the club.

Clary struggled against his grip. "Jace, I'm working. You're gonna get me fired!"

"Oh, well. You should've thought of that before you decided to be pissed at me and not give me a reason."

Jace dragged her into the back room and shut the door behind her. Clary turned around and reached for the knob, only to have him slam his hand against the door, holding it closed.

"You're not getting away until you tell me what's wrong."

Clary let out a frustrated breath and turned back toward him. He stood very close, leaning over her and trapping her between himself and the door. "You know what's wrong!"

"Obviously I don't or I wouldn't be holding you back here."

"I kissed you last night!" she said louder than she intended. Her cheeks flared.

"So?"

Her breath caught. "Right. So," she said with resignation. "Of course. Why shouldn't it be 'so,' right?" She sighed. "Just let me go, Jace."

"Wait, so you're mad at me because _you_ kissed _me_? That hardly seems fair."

"Fair? You're going to talk to me about what's fair?" She closed her eyes briefly trying to calm herself. "How can you even justify being able to say that to me?"

"Jesus, Clary." He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "I don't know what the hell this is all about."

"Ever since I met you," she began, her voice shaking with the anger she tried to hold back, "you've done nothing but flirt with me. I blew it off because I've seen you flirt with everything in a skirt in this club. I knew it was just how you were and it meant nothing." She paused and swallowed. "But last night you—you were . . . different." Looking up, she met his gaze. "You took care of me and kept me safe. You stayed when I was scared. You fell asleep under the stars with me. You—you were—"

His lips parted but he made no move to say anything, so she continued.

"For whatever reason, I kissed you. I felt like it and I kissed you. I'm sorry I did that because I know we're . . . we're . . . friends. We're _only_ friends," she whispered, the words feeling like ice in her throat. "I just thought—" She shook her head, pushing back the stupidity on the tip of her tongue. "I don't know what I thought."

"Do you, Clary? Do you know that? That we're friends."

She narrowed her eyes, his words, though she knew what they'd be, stabbed her through the heart. "Of course I do! And if I'd been deluded enough to think otherwise, you set me straight, okay? So don't worry, I'm not about to throw myself at you or anything."

"Good."

Clary let out a frustrated growl and shoved against his chest with both hands. He stumbled back a couple of steps. "Thank you, Jace. Thank you for making me feel like the biggest loser to roam the planet." She turned around and before she could make any move to leave, she felt her body being twisted around and her back hit the door.

"You're being unreasonable."

"I am not."

"Oh, no? What do you call this then?" He gestured to her stiff, defiant posture. "I don't get you. It's not like you didn't flirt back."

"The difference is I wouldn't have thrown it back in your face!" Clary leaned in, her nose nearly touching his. "You did. You could've let me know in a much nicer way you weren't interested. I can handle rejection, Jace. I'm not a child. I just don't want to be played with."

"I was never playing with you." He shook his head and Clary saw him swallow nervously, like maybe he hadn't meant to say that. "You don't want someone like me, Clary. Right now, you think you do, but trust me, you don't."

"How do you know? You don't know what I want."

He narrowed his eyes. "I know you don't want a quick screw in the back room. I know you don't want someone who can't keep himself for only you. I know you don't want a man like that, and that's exactly the kind of man I am."

"How do you know I don't want a quick screw in the back room? It might be fun, actually."

"Really? This is what you dream of?" He glanced behind him and titled his head toward the darkness. "You want someone to take you back here and have their way with you?"

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know. Maybe."

His brows lifted and he moved in closer, causing her to shrink back. He leaned into her, his hands trailing softly down her sides. She sucked in a breath and felt her heart speed at his touch.

"So this is really what you think you want?" His breath danced over the side of her face, his body pressing her flush against the door. She fought with everything in her not to shiver. "You want a man to put his hands on you like this?" He gripped her waist, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her hard into him. "You want him to take you like this?" Suddenly, his hands moved to her behind and lifted her up until she could do nothing but hold his hips with her thighs. Her back pressed hard against the door and her legs started to tremble as she felt every inch of him against her.

"Ma—maybe." She hated the breathiness of her voice.

"That's because you're naïve," he said. "You don't want this. You don't want to be disrespected this way. Do you know how I know?"

She glared at him in defiance, trying to disregard all the parts of him pressed into her, but failing miserably.

"Because if you did," he said softly, "you wouldn't have looked at me the way you did the first time we met. You saw that for what it was, and you knew you could never do that."

She rolled her eyes and stared at the black space to the side of him.

"Look at me, Clary."

She refused. He reached up and lightly grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to his. In them, she saw a glimmer of the man he'd been the night before, and she felt her toughness crumbling. As much as she tried to deny it, she wanted that man. She wanted him so much.

"I'm not who you think I am."

Unable to help herself, she slid her fingers under a piece of hair that had fallen over his forehead and pushed it to the side. "Then who are you?"

He gave her a faint smile that looked slightly sad to her, and lowered her to the ground. She felt the absence of his warmth in every part of her.

Stepping away, he ran a hand through his hair and looked down. "You should go back to work, Spitfire. We wouldn't want you to get fired, now would we?" He moved around her and grasped the door knob.

Clary reached out and laid her hand on his forearm. "Jace, please, just—"

"I can't, Clary." He kept his head down, not looking at her.

Twisting the knob, he opened the door and walked out. Clary pushed it shut behind him and leaned her forehead against it. She closed her eyes and fought back the swell of emotion rising up in her. It wasn't anger or sadness—she didn't know what it was. All she knew was that it felt all consuming and slightly painful.

The dim light above her flickered and went out. She glanced up and cursed under her breath. A soft knock sounded on the other side of the door and Clary's heart leapt into her chest. Maybe it was Jace. Maybe he'd changed his mind.

With that thought, she flung the door open, her face falling when it wasn't Jace waiting behind it. A man stood partially hidden in the shadows, a hood pulled up over his head.

"Oh, if you're looking for the bathroom it's actually—"

Before she got another word out, the man pushed her hard into the back room. Clary lost her balance and fell to the ground, pain searing through her tailbone at the impact. She cried out and the man slammed the door behind him. Trying to get away, Clary slid backward, using the soles of her shoes to push along the slippery tiled floor. The man moved closer, his footsteps louder than they should have been. The strong bass beat from the music playing outside the room vibrated through the floors. Clary continued to move away, her hands searching for anything she could find to use as a weapon.

"What do you want?" Her palm slid over the floor, her fingers finally finding something round and hard—a spare serving tray. She gripped it in both her hands and searched the pitch black for any sort of movement.

The man didn't answer, only continued to inch toward her. At least he was as blind as she was. Clary rolled to her side and stood, trying her hardest not to knock into any of the shelving and giving away her position. She moved her feet forward, a few inches at a time.

The sound of the man's breathing seemed so loud in her ears. She hoped he couldn't hear her as easily and considered holding her breath, but didn't want to pass out. Her body trembled as she groped through the dark, wanting nothing more than to scream out for help, but knowing if she did, he'd be on her in seconds and no one would probably hear her anyway.

She took another step forward and her toe hit one of the metal shelves. A loud clattering split through the air as whatever was stacked on them fell to the ground. Clary sucked in a breath and lunged forward, knowing he knew exactly where she was now. But just as she cleared the mess, she felt an arm wrap around her waist and lift her slightly off the ground. The tray she'd held fell to the ground with a loud clang. A scream built in her throat, but the man covered her mouth with a hand before she was able to release it. Tears stung at her eyes as she struggled against him.

No matter how hard she tried, the man had her trapped, her arms flat to her sides and her feet dangling precariously below her. She had no way to brace her body and use the move Jace had shown her. She tried kicking out and behind herself, but it was no use. None of her shots connected as she hung there, defenseless, helpless. Her mind raced with things she'd read and seen on television. Anything that might help her get loose.

The man lowered his hand from her mouth and grabbed at her neck. Clary couldn't hold back the scream that ripped from her as soon as his palm left her face. A searing pain burned through her neck and the man covered her mouth once more. His hand sat over the lower half of her face including her nose. She tried desperately to suck in a breath, but there was no air available to her. With only the thoughts of her survival in her mind, Clary bit down, hard, on the fleshy part of his palm. Her mouth filled with the taste of salt and copper.

The man yelped and drew his hand away, dropping her enough so her feet touched the ground. Clary froze for a second, surprised she'd actually done something to get herself free. Confidence swelled up and crashed over her. She lifted her foot, and slammed it down, scraping it down his shin and digging into his toes. The man's grip on her loosened and he stumbled back. Clary whipped around and thrust her elbow into his face. She heard a sickening crack, and felt him fall backward, but didn't stop to assess the situation.

Leaping forward, she crossed the room in three strides and grabbed the door knob. A hand wrapped around her ankle and twisted. She let out a cry of pain but still managed to thrust open the door. It must have hit him because she heard him grunt and felt his grip fall from her leg. She flung herself out the door and into the hall. As quickly as she could while limping, she hurried into the crowded club.

Her vision clouded over, and she realized she was crying. Her ankle throbbed and her neck burned. She'd gone several feet into the main area when someone grabbed her arms. She screamed.

"Clary!" A familiar voice called. "Clary, it's Alec."

Dark hair and blue eyes came into focus. Clary let herself collapse into him, her body convulsing with fear and relief. Her hands fisted into his shirt, and she buried her face into him.

"Alec?" Jace's voice sounded from beside them. "What the hell's going on?"

Clary felt Alec shake his head. "I don't know. She came from over there, crying and limping."

The air shifted around her and Clary felt warmth on her cheeks. "Clary. What happened?"

She lifted her face and met concerned gold. "In the back room. A man." Was all she got out before Jace bolted into the hall.

Alec moved Clary to a nearby chair and sat her down. Her body still shook. She was pretty sure she was going into shock.

A moment later, Jace returned and shook his head at Alec. Jace moved in front of Alec, and knelt before Clary, taking her hands in his.

"What happened?" he repeated.

Clary sucked in a breath. "Someone knocked on the door. I—I thought it was you so . . . so I opened it." She swallowed. "And then . . . this man . . . forced his way in." She looked up at him, feeling the tears wanting to return but fought them back. "I fought him. Like you showed me, I fought him."

Jace nodded and stood. "You got away. That's good. You did good. Can you stand?"

Clary bit her lip and stood, but when she put weight on her ankle, her leg buckled and she pitched forward into Jace. He caught her around the top of her arms and she straightened herself.

"He grabbed my ankle." She sat back down and Jace followed, holding her foot gently in his hands. His fingers were carful and warm.

"It doesn't look sprained or broken. Probably just twisted." He glanced up. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

The stinging on Clary's neck reminded her that he had.

"My—my neck."

Jace rose and moved the collar of her shirt to the side. Clary hissed in pain and Jace's face pinched with the sound. "It looks like he tried to rip your necklace off. Is it valuable?"

"What?" Clary asked, confused. "No—at least I don't think so. It was my mother's." She met Jace's eyes once more. "Why would he want that?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, but you're not going to be able to work on that ankle."

Clary groaned, thinking of all the tips she'd be missing out on.

"Come on. We'll take you home." Jace bent and slipped his arms under her legs and around her back.

"Whoa, wait."

He paused. "What?"

"You're not carrying me."

He raised a brow. "Wanna bet?" With that, he scooped her up and brought her close to his chest, lifting her like she was nothing.

Clary's face heated. "Jace . . . Jace, put me down."

"No."

"Come on, this is embarrassing."

He looked at her in disbelief. "Nonsense. You're the envy of all the girls in this place right now. Just look at them all."

Clary looked around, noticing that the stares of the female population were not those of curiosity. Some even glared, but none so much as Aline. With a faint grin, Clary wrapped her arms around Jace's neck and snuggled her face into it.

"Just so you know," she said, "this has nothing to do with what we talked about earlier. I'm still mad at you. I just really love pissing Aline off." She peeked up and met Aline's furious stare. Clary's smile widened.

"Fine. If using me as some sort of jealousy inducing tool amuses you, then I can be okay with that."

Clary raised her head and met his eyes. "You really shouldn't be. You're better than that."

His gaze locked on hers for a moment before he looked away. "You know, for a girl who hates being rescued, you sure do need it a lot."

She rolled her eyes. "Why do you have to spoil every nice moment by being a douche?"

A small smile pulled at his mouth. "Because that's what I do, Spitfire. I ruin nice moments, and nice girls. It's who I am."

"You know, you're never going to make me believe that."

His voice lowered so she could barely hear it. "Someday, I will."

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_;) ~ddpjclaf _

_Thank you to my lovely beta, LLWB, as always._


	10. Smolder

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**Warning: There's a very slight hint of M rated material here. Nothing compared to what is available out there...but as a parent to a 'tween,' I wouldn't be comfortable with my 11 y.o. reading this. just saying...**

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Don't Tell Me – Avril Lavigne_

_**My First Kiss – 3oh!3_

_**Don't Walk Away – Sick Puppies_

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Clary stared at her reflection in the now sparkling-clean bathroom mirror. She'd scrubbed it so hard trying to remove any trace of the eye and message that she'd taken off a bit of the finish near the bottom-left corner. Dark purplish semi-circles lined the underside of her eyes and stood out against the stark paleness of her skin. The red of her hair looked more orange than normal, and her green irises appeared dull and flat. She sighed and ran a brush through her messy curls, tangles catching on the bristles. Once she finished, she set the brush down on the edge of the sink and leaned in, reaching up to run her fingers along the white, rectangular bandage covering the thin, red line at the base of her throat.

She still had no idea what the man had wanted. Looking down at the plain-gold locket lying near the faucet, she couldn't help but wonder if he _had_ been trying to take it. The question was: why? Why would he want it?

She picked it up and pressed in the tiny clasp on the side. It opened, revealing the same photo her father had of the entire family in his office. There was nothing significant about the necklace. It wasn't even worth a significant amount. The only reason Clary had it was because her mother gave it to her just before she died. Her father had gotten rid of everything her mother owned shortly after, and this was all she had left.

Closing the locket once more, Clary stashed it in the medicine cabinet, not wanting to wear it until her neck healed. It made her sad to put it away since she hadn't gone a day without it since her mother's death.

She stepped back from the sink, wincing as an ache spread through her ankle at the movement. Looking down, her eyes focused on the purple bruise in the shape of a hand. It didn't hurt so bad that she couldn't walk, but she hoped she wouldn't have to run anytime soon because that would probably prove impossible. Even so, Isabelle insisted she wrap it to help not pull anything else while it healed. Clary thought it stupid and useless, but Isabelle insisted.

Unfortunately, none of them seemed to have anything to wrap it with, so Isabelle said she'd get something. That was hours ago. Not that Clary was complaining about the respite. Ever since the first message crossed her phone, she'd not had a moment's peace. Someone was always hovering around, watching, waiting. As much as she appreciated the concern, she really hated feeling like people thought she was fragile and incapable of taking care of herself.

Ten minutes earlier, when Simon announced he was running up to the store and would be back in "three shakes of a lamb's tail," Clary nearly jumped into the air and danced around the room. She needed a little time to decompress and put her thoughts into perspective. Having everyone hovering around had made that almost impossible as of late. She knew she seemed a little unappreciative, and it wasn't that she didn't feel grateful for everything everyone had done for her. It was just that sometimes she needed to be alone. Needed to know that she was capable of being on her own. For so long, she'd been overshadowed by the huge presences of her father and brother. This was her time now. Her time to be the person she always wanted to be. And weak and needy had never been in the plan.

Clary sighed and hobbled back to the living room, plopping down on the couch just as the doorbell rang followed by three sharp raps. She groaned and heaved herself up, hopping on one foot just because she didn't feel like walking so slowly. So much for her supposed "alone time."

Twisting the knob, she pulled the door open. The air the movement created caused a few strands of hair to fly into her face. She reached up and pulled them away, narrowing her eyes at who stood in her doorway.

"Do you really think it's smart to open the door without even asking who it is? I could have been some deranged lunatic bent on ravaging you for my own sadistic pleasure."

"Aren't you?" Clary stared at Jace, giving him no indication that his mere presence caused her traitor stomach to flip and try to leap out of her abdomen. "Sadistic, I mean." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Oh, come on, Spitfire. You can't hold a grudge forever." Jace grinned at her. That stupid grin he thought made him look so adorable—he was right, but she didn't have to let him know that.

"Oh, no? Watch me." She grabbed the door and started pushing it shut in his face.

He reached out and stopped it. "It's a shame you can't be more grateful. I come bearing gifts, after all." He held out a plastic bag and jiggled it in front of her.

"What's that?" she eyed him suspiciously.

"Izzy called and said she was stuck at school. Wanted me to bring some supplies to fix you up." He leaned his shoulder against the door frame and stared down at her, his eyes wandering over her scantily clad body. "So, I guess I get to play doctor today. Not the exact scenario this particular fantasy has played out in my mind, but I can work with it." Clary rolled her eyes and tried to snatch the bag away from him, but he pulled it back quickly. "Ah, ah. You'll need help with the bandage, and I'm very good at binding things."

She huffed, hesitated, and then opened the door further, gesturing for him to enter. He moved past her, his scent lingering behind and making Clary close her eyes in an effort to get a hold of herself. Closing the door, she slowly made her way back into the living room where Jace waited. He studied her, his brows furrowed, hands in fists at his sides, and his mouth set into a straight line. She recognized his macho-man protective look.

"It's fine, okay? I'm just a wimp when it comes to pain." Clary lowered herself onto the couch with a huff of breath, and Jace came to kneel in front of her. She suddenly felt very subconscious being dressed in only a tight tank top and boyshorts. But Jace said nothing as he picked up her foot and examined the bruise, his fingers brushing gently over her skin, causing a subtle smattering of goosebumps to rise on her flesh. Clary watched his face, noting the subtle crease between his brows and the tightening of his jaw. She leaned forward, tucked two fingers under his chin, and lifted until his eyes met hers. "It's fine," she repeated. "Dark bruising goes along with pale skin. It always looks worse than it is."

He nodded, reached into the bag, and withdrew an Ace Bandage. Clary settled back into the cushions, watching as he started to wrap it carefully around her ankle. As he worked, Clary continued to study him, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind. How could he feel nothing when she felt so much? Was she really that unremarkable to him? She knew she wasn't like the girls he tended to be attracted to: big busted, slutty, stupid. But, she was still cute, and they got along well. They seemed to have explosive chemistry. Maybe she'd read too much into his signals and she was the only one attracted in this instance.

"So, you're giving me the silent treatment now?" she asked.

He didn't look up and fastened the first of two clips to the bandage. When he responded, it wasn't with his normal cockiness. "Given the fact that you tried to slam the door in my face, I wasn't aware you wanted to speak to me, Clary."

She sighed, leaned forward, and placed her hands over his, stilling them. He let out a breath and finally met her gaze. Behind the gold hid some emotion Clary couldn't identify. "I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday and just now. I'm just . . ." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I'm feeling a little vulnerable or something since all this has happened, and I'm taking it out on you. I just feel kinda stupid. That's all."

He scowled and sat back on his heels. "Why would you feel stupid? It's not your fault some psycho has his sights set on you."

"I know that," she said quietly. "But you know I hate feeling . . . out of control. Like everyone has to babysit me all the time. I can take care of myself."

"When are you going to get over feeling like that?" He placed his hands on the couch cushions, one to either side of her legs, and pulled himself eye level with her. "It's not a job or babysitting when people care about you."

Clary held her breath. Did he just say what she thought he'd said?

"You know," he continued, "your geeky best friend would probably dip himself in a vat of boiling oil for you. He looks like he could be that obtuse. And Isabelle seems to be doing her fair share of mothering as well." He held up the bag once more. "It's annoying as hell."

Clary's face fell. She guessed he hadn't included himself in that statement. "I guess."

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes moving from one of hers to the next, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something else. Instead, he lifted a hand and tentatively touched the bandage on her neck. "This should be changed."

"Okay." She held her hand out. He stared at her, one brow raised. "You have the stuff, right? Hand it over."

"What? You don't trust me to correctly dress a wound? I'm hurt, Spitfire," he said, teasingly.

Clary rolled her eyes. "No, Jace, that's not it and you know it. It's just that there are some things I can do for myself. I'm not an invalid."

"I can do it for you, Clary. I'm sure you wouldn't do it right, and then Isabelle will follow through on her threat to do some rather . . . unsavory . . . things to certain parts that I'm rather attached to. Figuratively and literally."

"Oh, come on! How can I screw up bandaging myself?" She reached for the supplies again. "Just gimme."

He thrust his arm out behind him, holding the bag out of her reach and giving her a disbelieving look. "I can't believe you're so cavalier about the damage she's threatening to inflict on me."

"I'm sure she's just screwing with you," she said, reaching again. "Little Jace will be just fine."

His hand shot forward, pushing against her chest until she fell into the cushions once more. "Did you just . . . did you just say _little_?"

Clary raised her brows, heat spreading up her chest and pooling into her cheeks, mortified at what she'd just uttered. "Um, what?"

He chuckled, his eyes large and filled with humor. "I think you just alluded to my size, Spitfire, in a not so flattering manner."

"I . . . I didn't mean it like that. I'm sure it's—uh . . . I just meant, um, smaller than you—as a whole . . . you know, in relation to . . ."

He stared at her, one brow raised and a cocky, half smirk on his lips.

Clary lowered her gaze to her lap, feeling as though her face might just explode. Gesturing to her neck, she said, "Why don't you just go ahead and do it, damn it."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you were going to say."

Clary narrowed her eyes as he dug through the bag and pulled out another bandage, tape, and a couple different things to clean and protect the cut. "Did you plan that to make me relent?"

"I planned nothing. You're the one who insulted me, not the other way around."

"I did not insult you! You know very well that 'It' is often referred to as 'little-insert-guy's-name-here'. It wasn't meant to be an exact accounting on what you've actually got, er, down there." Clary's face flamed again. "Besides, it's not like I'd even know or anything."

Jace looked up at her from beneath his lashes, grinned, and then bit his bottom lip before glancing back down. He grabbed a cotton ball and doused it in antiseptic.

"You totally planned that," Clary muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I promise I didn't," he responded. "Though you are easily distracted."

She raised her brows. "And if I just nonchalantly threw out the size of my bra you wouldn't be caught off guard?"

"32 A," he said without hesitation, leaning forward to remove the old bandage from her neck.

Clary wrenched her head back and away from his hands. "What?"

"What?"

"How . . . how do you know that?"

"How do I know what?"

"You know what!"

He sighed and placed the supplies on the couch, raising his eyes to hers before shrugging. "I'm very good at guessing bra sizes. It's a God given talent."

"Uh huh. Is your assyness a God given talent too?"

"No, that's self-taught. Pretty impressive, yeah?"

"Hmm." Clary peered at him speculatively. "Are there any other . . . _talents_ I should know about? You know, if we're going to be friends and all." She paused and narrowed her eyes. "You're not living a double life are you? Like, perhaps a rodeo clown disguised as a pretty boy college student? Or maybe a criminal mastermind who uses his sex appeal to lure innocent, rich, young women into his web of lies and deceit, using their trust funds to finance his latest scheme. Oh, oh! How about a super spy for the government, bent on securing the secrets of the city's most notorious criminals? Yeah, I like that one. It makes you sound badass as well as sexy."

Jace's face sobered for an instant and he leaned in once more, his fingers pulling gently at the tape surrounding the bandage on her neck. "You've got quite the imagination there. Must be interesting for the men you bring home."

Clary shrugged, knowing he was baiting her. She decided to play along. "Yeah, it's all right. I haven't had a complaint yet."

Jace's fingers faltered and she heard him swallow. She smiled. The rip of the tape pulled out the fine hairs on her neck and caused her to wince.

"Sorry," he mumbled, moving in closer to inspect the cut. "Looks pretty good. I doubt it'll scar too badly." Picking up the soaked cotton ball, he carefully swiped it over the wound.

"Ow!" Clary hissed as a sharp pain radiated from the spot. It burned as the liquid soaked into her skin.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad."

"It stings!" She waved her hand rapidly like she wanted to fan the area.

Jace rolled his eyes. "You're such a baby." Moving in closer, he pressed his fingers into her shoulders, puckered his lips, and blew a soft stream of cold air across the cut, cooling her heated skin and relieving the sting. Clary closed her eyes against the tingle the action caused to break out over her. Her hands fisted into the material of the couch as the heat that had once centered on the wound traveled to every other part of her body. A chill built at the base of her spine and sprinted quickly up to her neck. She shivered.

He stopped but didn't pull away. "Is this making you cold?"

"No," Clary said, her voice quiet and breathy. "It feels good."

Jace moved minutely, his hand lowering from her shoulder and ghosting over hers. She shivered again. He exhaled, his breath trembling against her skin.

With just that one tiny tremble of his breath, Clary knew—at least in that instance—that she had him right where she wanted him. She was tired of playing this game, of denying herself what she wanted. It may have been cruel, or even manipulative on her part, but he was there. He was weakened.

And she wanted him.

Reaching out, no longer able to resist, she ran her fingers up his forearm, lightly tracing along the braid of muscle. She grasped his other hand, and boldly placed it against the bare skin of her upper thigh. His long, slender fingers fanned across the expanse of her leg. Heat pulsed under his touch, and Clary let out a shaking breath, her heart pumping harder and faster against her ribs.

Jace's body stiffened, and he bowed his head, almost touching it to her shoulder. He didn't remove his hand. "Clary . . ." His voice was rough.

She turned her face toward him, his hair tickling her nose. "Jace," she whispered his name in answer.

A slight shudder rippled through his shoulders and his grip on her thigh tightened. Clary closed her eyes and rested her forehead against him, her hands coming up to circle his arms. Her entire body was a live wire, electrical impulses sparking from every pour in her skin. She wanted him to turn to her, to give her his mouth, to take her into his arms, to hold her against him and let her body feel every inch of his.

Running her hands up his arms, she stopped at his shoulders and tugged forward gently. A hint. A plead. Whatever he wanted to call it, she was asking. Slowly, he lifted his head, his breathing fast and uneven. Clary's pulse jumped. Would he push her away? God, she hoped he wouldn't. His signals were so mixed she didn't know exactly what he thought about her. There were times when it seemed like he wanted her as much as she wanted him. And then there were times when he completely dismissed the idea. She was so confused and just wanted some answers.

Jace turned toward her, knocking their noses against each other. The corners of their slightly open mouths almost touched, and every breath was shared between them. She could already nearly taste him on her tongue.

As much as she wished he'd initiate, she knew he wouldn't. She felt the tenseness set in his shoulders and the way he seemed to hold himself just far enough away as to not give in. It frustrated her because she didn't understand why he wouldn't just let go. Obviously, they both felt something—this much tension was not one sided. Taking matters onto herself, she tilted her head, allowing her mouth to move just a little bit closer to his.

"Clary," he said, his voice still strained. The sound vibrated through her, making her want it more. "I can't." The words were clear but there was no conviction behind them.

Clary stayed where she was, refusing to back down this time. "Why not?"

Another shaky breath passed his lips. "Because I . . . I shouldn't."

"Yes," she pulled against him once more, "you should."

A sound, something between a groan and a whimper, came from his throat, and before Clary could even think, his mouth took hers, hard and fast. She rocked back with the force of it, unable to keep her balance. Jace's hands came up and grasped her face, holding it tightly against his as he forced her lips further apart. Clary's breath caught and she clutched his shoulders hard, trying to pull him into her. He did not resist and allowed her to draw him in.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, not hesitating to take the first taste. It was so good—sweet, like mint and vanilla and . . . him. The kiss was completely different from the one they'd had before. That one was sweet and friendly. This was fire and want and need, both of them consumed entirely by it.

Her fingers tangled into his hair and pulled hard, causing him to grunt softly into her mouth. The sound spurred her on and she pulled again. Jace lowered his hands to her hips, dug his fingers in, and dragged her across the couch cushions until she sat on the edge. He pressed his body into hers, and she grasped at his back wanting more, just . . . more.

Jace tucked an arm around her and lowered his other hand to the couch behind Clary, his fingers splayed across the fabric. He twisted her body slightly, laying her on her back. Rising up, he settled a knee on the couch between her legs, the other foot still on the floor as he hovered over her. Clary lowered her hands to his waist and gripped his shirt, pulling him toward her. Slowly, he lowered himself, his mouth never relenting in its devouring of hers. He kept one arm under her and the other hand sliding slowly up her thigh.

As he settled, Clary realized both their shirts had ridden up and their bare stomachs touched. Heat from the skin on skin contact flooded her brain, making her nearly see red. Never before had anyone affected her like he did. His hands on her skin, his lips moving with hers, his taste in her mouth, all of it was too much, yet, not nearly enough.

Her hands roamed every part of him she could reach. They glided over the curve of his strong shoulder, cupping his arms and running down the length of them. Her fingers traced along the ridges of his back and around front to his chest. His body was hard and delicious, and just absolute perfection.

Jace's hand continued to slide up her leg, finally slipping through the opening of her shorts and wrapping around her hip beneath the material. Clary couldn't hold back a gasp. His grip tightened, fingers digging in as he pulled her harder against him. She barely contained the groan crawling up her throat.

His body moved over her and she clung to him, trying her hardest to press every part of her to every part of him. He kissed like nothing she had ever experienced before. Not so hard it hurt, but hard enough to make her wonder if her lips would be swollen afterward. She would have expected a kiss like that to be sloppy and messy, but it wasn't. He knew exactly how to shape his mouth over hers, exactly how to maneuver his tongue, and exactly how much pressure to apply to manage to give her the best kiss she'd ever had without out the slobber most guys left behind.

Somehow, in the midst of everything, Clary heard a strange rattling sound. She furrowed her brows, wanting whatever it was to go away and let them be, when Jace stilled above her. She opened her eyes and found his, wide and bright staring down at her. Something flashed through them and he drew in a sharp breath, pulling back just as the front door slammed open.

Jace flew off the couch, managing make sure his shirt covered any "evidence" as to what they'd been doing, and pulled Clary to a seated position before Isabelle, Simon, and Maia entered the living area. Clary struggled to settle her breathing and noticed Jace doing the same. She turned toward the entrance, finding all three sets of eyes curiously studying them.

Trying to act nonchalant, she smiled. "What's up, guys?"

Isabelle raised a brow and cocked her head to the side. "Nothing," she said slowly. "I think the more appropriate question is: What's up with you?"

Clary shook her head and shrugged. "Same. Jace was just helping me with the new bandages." She held up her bruised ankle, showing off the taupe colored wrapping, and hoping they couldn't hear the trembling of her voice.

"Why do you have sex hair?" Simon asked, his brows furrowed.

"What?" Clary squeaked. "I do not have sex hair." She paused, reaching up to feel the poofy mess, groaning quietly to herself. "How would you even know what my sex hair looks like?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." He turned to Izzy and Maia. "Isn't that what sex hair looks like?"

"Pretty much," Isabelle offered, still eyeing Clary and Jace.

"Total sex hair, babe. Sorry," Maia added.

"Well, I wouldn't know because there has been no sex—I mean, _I_ haven't had sex today. I have no idea what he's done." She flopped her hand toward Jace, her face heating as she glanced up at him. He stared down at her, his face drawn and blank.

"Jace" Isabelle's voice floated across the room, a hint of warning Clary didn't understand lacing it. "Alec was looking for you."

He frowned. "Why didn't he call then?"

"He said he tried but you wouldn't pick up. That's why he called me."

Jace reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "Oh, I must've bumped it," he said absently. "I'll go up in a minute. I'm almost done here anyway."

He knelt back down in front of Clary, saying nothing as he tore open the package and pulled out a gauze pad, acting as though he hadn't just had his tongue in her mouth and his hand up her shorts ten seconds earlier.

"So, how is our patient?" Isabelle asked as she moved across the room to stand behind the couch.

Clary scowled. "I'm not a patient, people. It's just a bruise and a scratch, really. Not like I couldn't do all of this myself."

"Disagreeable and stubborn as ever," Jace said. He kept his eyes down and his jaw tight as he ripped off pieces of tape and stuck the ends to his jeans. Clary noticed a faint pink flush dotting both of his cheeks. "She didn't want me to do anything for her."

"That didn't stop you though, did it?" Clary narrowed her eyes.

Jace looked up at her with a strange expression. Clary swallowed, not liking how that look made her feel. She wanted the shuttering breaths and smoldering eyes he'd had moments before.

He gathered all the wrappers, wadding them up before pushing himself up to stand. "And you doubted my ability to play doctor, Izzy. Look at this fabulous job." His hand swept toward Clary.

"Mmm . . ." Isabelle said. "We'll just see about that." She leaned in to inspect Jace's work.

Clary rolled her eyes and pushed Isabelle away. "Leave him alone. He did just fine."

"Fine? Just . . . fine? Is that all the props I get here today?" He shook his head. "First you disgrace my—"

"Oh hell. Are we rehashing this again? You know I didn't—"

"Yes you—"

"What the hell are you two arguing about?" Isabelle interrupted, looking back and forth between them.

Clary and Jace both started speaking at the same time, telling the same story but from different sides. Isabelle stared at them wide-eyed, her mouth dropped open in an expression that clearly indicated she had no idea what to make of anything.

A loud, shrill whistle sounded off toward the kitchen. Clary winced and turned toward the noise. Simon and Maia stood in the archway, their brows creased and mouths hanging open.

"Jesus, you two," Simon said. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were an old married couple." Clary glared at him. He waved her away like her menacing look did nothing to faze him. "Come on, girls," he said to Isabelle and Maia. "Let's let the two _lovebirds_ have their little spat while we entertain a much more scintillating conversation and stuff our faces in the kitchen." He turned his back, his laugh reaching Clary's ears as he disappeared around the corner.

"Simon, I'm going to give you a swirly when you come back!" Clary called after him.

"Ooooh! I'm so scared." His voice drifted back. "Try to catch me with your gimpy foot!" He, Maia, and Izzy disappeared into the kitchen, the sounds of energetic conversation, the slamming of cupboard doors, and the refrigerator opening, drifted into the living room.

Clary let out a huff of breath and turned back to Jace. He stood with his brows pinched together, his mouth hanging open, and his finger pointing toward the door. "Can I watch that?" He cocked his head to the side and peered down at her. "Or better yet, I'll help. I'll catch him—since he's right and there's no way you could in your condition—and then you dunk and flush." He grimaced. "I'm not really a fan of sticking my hands in toilet water."

She crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring his question and asking one of her own. "So, are we going with the whole 'ignore it and it'll go away' approach this time? Or are you going to be an ass again?" She shrugged. "Just trying to prepare myself for whatever route you're going to take."

"Whatever route I'm going to take about what?"

She glared at him.

Jace leaned over and placed his palms down on the couch, his face hovering inches in front of hers. "Are we making a big deal out of this now? It was just a little making out, Spitfire."

Clary shook her head, laughed without humor, and looked away. "Right, so ass it is. Gotcha."

He sighed and bowed his head. "This is exactly why I said I shouldn't."

Clary turned back to him, anger heating the blood in her veins. "And why is that, '_exactly'_? So you don't have to own up to anything?"

He glanced back up, his brow creasing and eyes flashing. "No, because this isn't something you can handle, obviously." Clary opened her mouth to speak but he silenced her by placing his finger against her lips, his face softening. "You may be feisty and infuriating, but you're a good girl, Clary. You're not like the other girls I . . . see."

"See?" Clary raised a brow.

"See." He nodded once. "I thought that was a nicer term."

"A nicer term for dip and dodge, right?"

He cocked a sly grin. "Well, there's not always 'dipping' involved, but sure, it's a good analogy. Those girls know what they're getting themselves into—they pretty much beg for it like that, and they don't mind when I take advantage. They're using me just as much as I'm using them. They don't ask me what anything means, or if I'll call them the next day because they know I won't. They don't kiss me, or touch me, or leave with me thinking there'll be anything more. They know there won't be." His face sobered and he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. She held back a shiver. "I don't want to use you like that."

"Then why do you have to? Why can't it just be . . . different?"

"Because this is who I am. Who I've always been," he said. "I don't know how else to be."

Clary studied the smoothness of his face, searching for any cracks in the armor he so skillfully applied, and there, hidden deep behind the layers and layers of asshattyness, she saw it. A peek of . . . something. She didn't know exactly what it was, but she wanted to find it. To help him find it.

Reaching out, she placed her hands against his cheeks and held his eyes. "I believe _you_ believe this is all you are. A player. A womanizer. But _I_ don't believe that. I know there's more to you. Somewhere inside of you, there's more, and I'm going to find it."

.o.O.o.

As soon as the door clicked with Jace's departure, Clary let out a loud, frustrated groan and lowered her face into her hands. Three sets of footsteps stampeded into the living room.

"Okay, spill," Maia said, plopping down right next to Clary.

"Spill what?"

Maia rolled her eyes. "Duh. Spill the dirt on you and Motorcycle Hottie, or as I like to refer to him, Government Class Douchebag.

Clary couldn't help the snort that escaped. "Why would you think there was anything to spill?" She wondered briefly if they could somehow tell she'd been kissed within an inch of her life—besides her apparent, "sex hair," which she could attribute to a number of different things.

"Because the tension in this room was just astronomical!"

Clary shook her head. "It's nothing, really. He just . . . frustrates me so bad!" She clenched her fists.

"Well, no news there," Isabelle added. "Jace is probably one of the most pig-headed people I know—and he's my cousin so it's not like I have a choice about seeing him."

Clary smiled, liking the fact that her friends were there. She glanced back behind the sofa where Simon still stood, his hands in his pockets and a troubled expression on his face. She frowned, knowing that look. "Um, I need to go to work and pick up my paycheck. I left last night without getting it and rent's due tomorrow." She hefted herself off the couch, wobbling slightly on her stiff ankle.

Simon reached out and caught her wrist. Clary looked up at him, but he refused to meet her eyes. "I'll help you back to your room," he said.

"I need to get going," Maia said. "I just stopped by to get Isabelle's notes from Economy class."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow in Art," Clary said. Maia nodded and made her way to the front door. Isabelle followed, muttering something about going to ask Alec something. And soon, it was just Clary and Simon.

He helped her to her room and stood awkwardly in the door frame. Clary sighed. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong or do I have to drag it out of you?"

Simon fidgeted with his fingers for a moment before looking up. "You lied."

"What?"

"You lied," he repeated. "When I asked you if you liked him, you said no. You lied."

Clary sighed. "Simon. I didn't lie. I just . . . don't really know what I feel."

He finally met her eyes. "So why didn't you say that then?"

"I don't know." She shrugged and moved to her closet, opening the door and rifling through the clothes arranged on hangers. "I feel . . . really dumb to be honest."

"What for?" he asked, finally crossing into the room and sitting on the edge of her bed.

Clary pulled a gray hoodie and a pair of dark jeans from a couple of hangers, and moved to sit beside Simon. "Because I know what everyone will think. That I'm just a stupid girl looking to score with the 'way out of her league' guy." She dropped the clothes to the comforter beside her and cradled her chin in her hand. "It's not that I don't know that already. I don't need to be reminded."

Simon reached over and tucked his finger under her chin, turning her face toward him. "Now, you listen to me. As far as I'm concerned, you are the one out of_ his_ league. You're way too good for him."

She snorted. "That's what he said."

"Well, for once, I'll agree with him. He's absolutely, one hundred percent right on that account." Simon sighed. "I don't know what it is about this guy, but I just don't trust him."

"I do."

"I know you do. I just don't know why."

"I don't know either. He just . . ." she paused, searching for the right words, "makes me feel safe."

"Don't I make you feel safe?"

Clary chuckled and laid her head on Simon's shoulder. "Of course you do. But it's not just that. He makes me feel . . . other things too."

Simon huffed. "It's called horny, Clary."

She laughed and shoved him. "I don't mean like that!"

Simon smiled, laughed a little, and then they both snuggled back in to each other.

"It's more than all that physical stuff." Clary continued quietly, figuring it was pointless to deny her attraction because she was sure that was pretty much obvious to everyone. "I . . . I want to . . . know him. You know, like really know him."

"Why?"

Clary shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know."

"He's going to hurt you. You know this, right? And then I'm going to have to get myself beat up trying to defend your honor." He let out a long, slow breath. "God, this sucks for me."

Clary laughed and patted his arm, getting up from her position on the bed. "I'm glad your priorities are in the right place, Si."

He gave her a wide smile as she crossed the room to the bathroom.

"I'm just gonna change."

"Do you want me to go with you to the club?"

"Yeah, if someone doesn't come I'll probably have Jace and Isabelle jumping down my throat."

Simon snorted. "That sounds uncomfortable—and highly unlikely that they'd fit." He looked up just as Clary flashed him her annoyed brow. "I'll just—wait out there."

"That sounds like a good plan," she called to his back as he rushed out of the room.

Clary closed the bathroom door and hurriedly changed into her jeans and hoodie. She was going to do her best not to think about Jace. His excuses about her being too good for him, or him not being the sort of guy for her were cop-outs. He was pulling back for some reason, and she couldn't figure out why. It wasn't a lack of attraction. She knew that now for sure. She'd felt it in the desperate way he'd kissed and held her. But why would he deny something it seemed like they both really wanted? It made no sense to her.

She walked over to the mirror and picked up her brush. "Oh my God," she said as she surveyed the damage, leaning in to get a closer look. "I totally do have sex hair!"

Pulling the brush through the rat's nest she used to call her hair, she managed to tame it somewhat. Not knowing what else to do that didn't involve wetting it, she twisted the red locks up and fastened them to her head with a clip. Figuring that was good enough to pick up a pay check, she opened the medicine cabinet to take a pain reliever for her ankle and spied her mother's locket. With a sigh, she reached over to grab it, needing the feel of the cool metal against her fingers. In the process, she knocked a bottle of cough syrup over, managing to spill everything from the bottom shelf of the cabinet onto the floor, including the locket.

"Damn it," she said as she knelt down to pick up the mess. Luckily, all of the bottles had been plastic, so save for a crack in one of the measuring caps, all was still together. It took her a moment to gather up all the medicine and put it back on the shelf. She went to set the necklace back down and realized it was open and the picture was missing. Frowning, she got back down on her hands and knees and lay with her face almost on the floor to look under the cabinet. There, a few inches back, lay the photo. Clary furrowed her brows and stretched her fingers into the narrow space, praying no spiders decided to bite her, and slid the photo out. Once she had it, she noticed a small square of folded paper stuck to the back. Carefully, she unfolded it, revealing a long, thin strip with jagged edges, and a bunch of jumbled letters and numbers written on it.

_WBL*2543NWSPRWLN789050*116264213_

Clary frowned, trying her hardest to piece together what this could mean and why it was attached to the back of the locket's picture. Was it a serial number? A code? A message? The more she read it, the less she understood. Finally, something clicked in her mind that she hadn't remembered right away since it had been so long since she'd seen it. She may not have been familiar with what the jumble of letters and numbers meant, but she did recognize the distinct, curvy shape of her mother's handwriting.

.o.O.o.

The pounding bass did nothing to help the growing ache in Jace's head. Why he'd thought escaping to the club was a good way to forget about what had happened between him and Clary, he had no idea. Oh, right, he wanted to get drunk. Unfortunately, only three sips made it down his throat before he felt sick. He didn't really want to be drunk, and he didn't want to be there.

He wanted to be with her.

He wanted to be the kind of guy that could have a girl like her.

He wanted to tell _her_ that's what he wanted.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't. It wasn't a possibility, not given the circumstances surrounding his even knowing her. She was his assignment. His job. He could never allow himself to forget that. Never. But she was so different from all the other girls, including the ones ogling him right then. She fought him, challenged him, made him think, made him _try_. No one had ever made him try before. Getting girls was as easy as breathing for him—before her. She didn't put up with his games and called him on his bull. Damn, it was sexy.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. "You can't have her," he muttered to himself, repeating this truth over and over in his mind, trying to solidify it there. No matter how much he may have wanted her, he could not have her.

Someone slid into the stool next to his. He glanced up and met clear blue eyes, a dark chunk of black hair almost blocking one of them. "Feeling better?" Alec asked.

Jace spun the cap from his drink on the counter. "Not especially." He twisted on the stool and rested one elbow on the bar. "What about you? Find anyone interesting?"

Alec's eyes shot to Jace's and two small, red circles bloomed on his cheeks. His gaze flicked to just behind the counter and then back. He shrugged. Jace turned slowly, his stare falling on a brightly dressed man with a bright purple vest, and eyes that were slightly curved and lined thickly with black. His dark hair stuck up in all directions and seemed to sparkle in the pulsing lights. Jace looked back at Alec. "Really?"

Alec shrugged again.

"Well, I think you should go for it." He picked up his drink and took another swig, grimacing and pushing it away from him.

"You think?"

"Why not? At least one of us should be seeing some action tonight. May as well be you."

Alec frowned. 'I don't know what's gotten into you, but I've never seen you like this before. I mean," he glanced around, "I see at least three girls eyeing you as we speak and you're paying no attention at all. You're not flirting. You're not acting like an ass. You're just . . . nothing."

Jace followed Alec's gaze. He was right. There were three different girls giving him the once over. A blond with a super-short red dress and fake boobs. A brunette wearing thigh-high boots and drunk as all get out—evidenced by the snorting giggle that left her lips when Jace's eyes landed on her. And the third, none other than SBW. Jace sighed and turned back around. "I'm not in the mood."

Alec stood and slapped Jace on the back. "Come on. Go get one of them, get this out of your system—whatever it is. You'll feel better in the morning."

Jace grunted in response and Alec left, making his way toward the glittery man. Jace watched as Alec walked up to the man, his hands shoved into his pockets and head ducked slightly. The man grinned a large catlike smile and ran his hand down Alec's arm. Jace couldn't help a small smirk. Alec never stepped out on his own, so to see him taking a chance made Jace feel like maybe, someday, he could too.

"Aww, that's so cute," a voice drawled in his ear.

Jace fought the urge to roll his eyes at the nasally voice. How he ever thought she was sexy before he did not know. Slowly he turned toward her, a fake smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "SBW."

She leaned against the counter, her tray pushed to the side and her chest jutted out toward him. "Ten. Whatcha doin' sittin' here all by your lonesome?"

"Nothing much. Just checking out the local fare."

"Mmm," she said, running a purple polished nail down his arm, eliciting goosebumps on his skin—and not in a good way. She leaned into him, her breath hot in his ear. "Wanna not be so lonely, Sailor?" Her hand left his arm, ran down his chest, and settled in his lap.

Jace closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and tried to swallow back the nausea rising in his throat. He did not want Aline. Not even in the littlest bit—which wasn't like him at all. Usually, if it was offered, he was down for it. But maybe this was just what he needed. A fling. A one-night stand to take his mind off from the red-head who seemed to dominate it. It had been so long—since he'd started this case, really—and maybe all he needed was a distraction to get his mind working right again.

He turned his face toward Aline, ignoring the warnings flashing through his mind, and the rolling of his stomach. A diversion was what he needed, he was sure of it. Aline could be that. She was offering, he needed it. "When do you get off?"

She pulled back and smiled. "Give me five minutes and I'm all yours."

He reached out and grabbed her, dragging her body into him and feeling his own respond. At least he wasn't broken for other women. That was a plus. "I'll give you three. Don't make me wait, baby."

Aline giggled and nipped at his ear. "All right, three." She disentangled herself from him and bounded off toward the back to clock out, he guessed.

Jace stood, swallowing back the bile that seemed intent on rising up his throat, called for his tab, and drummed his fingers on the countertop as he waited. After a moment, Kaelie returned with his bill, he paid and went to turn around when he stopped dead. A flash of red passing under the door caught his attention. His chest squeezed and his body flushed hot. He told himself it wasn't her, and scolded himself for his ridiculous reaction. He didn't know how she'd managed to affect him so completely, but she had.

He almost had himself convinced she couldn't be there, that he'd just been imagining it, when she emerged from the crowd with her geek-friend on her arm. She walked past him without seeing him. He watched her go up to the sparkly man talking to Alec, and noticed when he handed her an envelope. She smiled and chatted with Alec, and then her gaze slipped to Jace, her grin falling from her lips. Bowing her head, she excused herself and picked her way through the crowd toward him.

Jace sucked in a breath, trying to strip any and all emotion from his face. He had to get it together or else he was going to say or do something he shouldn't. Finally, she reached him. She glanced up, her green eyes staring into his, her lips fixed into a soft pout. God, he wanted to kiss them again. It had been pure torture leaving things the way he had earlier in the day. He hated the look on her face when he'd acted like kissing her, touching her, had been nothing to him. It wasn't how he wanted it, but it was how it had to be.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he answered, awkwardly.

"Listen." She reached into her pocket, her hand trembling slightly, and pulled out a slip of paper. "I found something, and I thought maybe you'd want to see it."

He held out his hand and she dropped the paper into it, her fingers brushing lightly over his palm and making him want to grab hold of them. "What's this?"

"I don't know. I found it in my locket."

His eyes shot to hers. "Your locket?" She bit her lip and nodded. He opened the paper. A long string of jumbled letters and numbers stared out at him. He frowned. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know," she said. "But it's—"

Jace felt a pair of hands cup his bicep and a warm body press up against him. For a moment, he was confused as to who would be grabbing him, and then he remembered—Aline. _Hell. _His eyes slowly rose to Clary's face. She stared at the girl at his side, her jaw clenched and eyes wide. Jace watched the color wash from her face, and seeing it caused a pang deep in his chest. She sucked in a breath and turned to face him. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words crossed his lips.

Clary reached across and carefully plucked the paper from his fingers, taking care not to touch him in the process. God, he was an _idiot_! "I see you're busy." Her voice was flat.

"Hey, Clary," Aline said in a slightly mocking tone.

Clary's gaze slid to her once more, "Aline," then back to Jace, "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it then." Turning on her heel, she pushed her way through the crowd toward the doors.

"Clary!" Jace started forward, knowing he shouldn't, that it would only make it worse, but felt his arm tugged back. He turned and caught Aline's narrowed eyes.

"Let her go." She pressed herself into him, her lips going directly to his neck and her knee coming up to rub along his leg. "I've got plans for you, and she's a freak anyway."

Jace drew in a breath and slowly turned his face toward her, his eyes focusing on the hand clutching his arm and then traveling up to her face. Anger and frustration built to a near explosion inside of him. He wanted nothing to do with her and couldn't believe he'd been stupid enough to entertain the idea in the first place. Being with Aline wouldn't help. Being with _anyone_ wouldn't help. "Let go."

Aline's brows drew together. "Excuse me?"

"What? Do I need to spell it out for you?" He leaned toward her as he spoke, his nose inches from her face. "Get. Your. Hands. Off. Me." He knew he was being unfair and cruel, but he couldn't concern himself with that now. Clary had left alone, apparently forgetting about her friend, and she was angry. As much as the first part of that problem should have been the forefront of his concern, it was the second that made him anxious to get to her. He didn't want her angry with him, although he deserved her anger and so much more. It would have been the smartest and easiest way to keep them both from acting on something they shouldn't, but, as irresponsible and stupid as it was, he couldn't help the desire to go to her.

Aline recoiled, her grip loosening and finally falling away. Jace reached past her for his jacket. She was sputtering some incoherent nonsense as he darted into the throng, pushing them out of his way until he reached the doors. He rushed outside, craning his neck over the crowds lining the sidewalk and spotting her flaming hair half a block away. Shrugging into his jacket, he took off down the street after her. When he reached her, he noticed her limping slightly.

"Clary . . . wait."

She groaned. "What do you want, Jace?"

"Clary, could you . . ." He dodged the oncoming foot-traffic, finally grabbing her arm and pulling her down a side alley. "Could you just wait a minute?"

She pulled her arm away from him and shoved her hands into his chest, causing him to stumble back. "No." She turned around and started back toward the street.

"No? What do you mean 'no'?" He caught up to her again.

She spun back toward him. "I meant exactly what I said. No. No, I won't wait for you. I'm done waiting for you."

"Clary, please, would you just listen—"

"No!" she yelled. "No, Jace. I don't want to listen to any more of your excuses, any more of your reasons. Just—go back to Aline. I'm sure she can offer you whatever it is you think you need."

"That's not fair."

"Yeah, well, life isn't fair. Deal with it," she spat and rushed back into the teeming crowd.

He followed. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Home? Clary, the subway's that way." He pointed behind them.

She glared at him, swerving this way and that to avoid the other pedestrians. "I know which way the subway is, thank-you-very-much. I've been using it for weeks now. I want to walk."

"It's eight blocks. You shouldn't walk that far on—"

"Don't," she spun at him, her finger extended in his face, "tell me what to do. You don't have the right. I'm not your sister, your girlfriend, or even really your friend. So just . . . leave me alone."

He grabbed her arm and leaned into her. "You're not walking home alone. Especially considering what you've been dealing with. It's not safe. Just let me take you home."

Narrowing her eyes, she closed the distance between them until their noses almost touched. "Then follow along behind and watch my ass as I go, Cass, because I don't want to walk with you." She wrenched her arm away and continued limping down the street.

Jace lifted his hands to his hair and fisted it. A low rumble sounded overhead and a light breeze wafted around him, the air thick with the smell of moisture. "Damn it," he said as he dropped his hands, flicked up the collar of his coat, and started after her just as the sky opened up and the rain began to fall.

* * *

_Are you frustrated yet? ;)_

_And it was pointed out to me that I forgot to thank my beta. *hangs head in shame* I suck. Anyway, LLWB, you know I love and appreciate you and all you do. This story would not read nearly as well without you. *Smooches and extra tat time*.  
_

_XOXOXO ~ddpjclaf_

_P.S. The "*'s" in the 'clue' are not supposed to be there, but Ffn kept deleting it without it *grumble*. So, they mean nothing...  
_


	11. Breaking Point

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**10. Breaking Point**

_**This chapter contains M rated material of the citrus variety. ;)** _

_Chapter Songs:_

_**The Mess I Made - Parachute_

_**Closer – Kings of Leon_

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Electricity sparked in the air as the fresh scent of rain bore down on the city, and the previously gentle breeze turned to a swift, chilly gust. The man stood amongst the rushing crowd, his eyes trained on the arguing couple. The way their bodies gravitated toward one another, even though their words spoke of anger and pain, he could tell there was much more to both of their feelings than met the eye. Lines in the girl's face showed hurt and confusion. The boy's relayed frustration and painful self-control. Both wanted to relent, but neither would. Not then, but soon. Very soon.

The girl thrust her finger into the boy's face and then stormed off, leaving him standing stunned and aggravated in the middle of the sidewalk. Finally, after a momentary pause, he followed after her, taking care to keep enough distance between them and avoid another showdown in the street. Soon after, the sky opened up and rain descended. Umbrellas popped up in time with each other, creating a moving cover over the sidewalk.

A chuckle worked its way up into the man's throat as he stole down the nearest alley. The whole situation amused him. The boy, used to getting what he wanted when he wanted, wanting the one girl he couldn't have. And the girl, desiring so badly to prove herself as independent and needing no one, falling for a guy whose core being sought to protect her. It was ironic and funny.

The man leaned against the cool brick building, and stood under a small awning positioned over a side entrance, keeping himself protected from the downpour. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out his cell phone and a pack of cigarettes. While dialing, he fumbled for his lighter and shook a cigarette out of the pack. He lit it and took a drag as he waited for the person on the other end to pick up.

"What?" said a woman's irritated voice.

He blew a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. "Don't 'what' me. Where the hell are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased.

"Yeah, especially considering you were supposed to meet me. We have work to do."

"Chill," she said. A loud clattering sound echoed through the earpiece. "I'm working on it."

The man took another long pull and then dropped the cigarette on the ground, stamping it under his boot. "Just saw our favorite couple outside the club."

"Oh, yeah? More tippy-toeing around each other?" She snorted. "Pathetic."

"Oh, no," he replied, smiling to himself. "There was definite heat flying between the two."

There was a pause on the other end. "Hmm . . . so, things are moving in the right direction then?"

"Yep. He's completely distracted."

"Good. That's exactly what we wanted."

"Mm hmm." The man walked to the opening of the alley, taking care to keep under the protective covering, and peered down the street in the direction the couple had disappeared. He saw no trace of them. "So, what's next?"

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it. I've got things under control."

"You gonna tell the boss then?"

She sighed. "You're such a little chicken."

"He likes you better. It only makes sense for you to call him."

"Fine. But you're doing the leg work during the next phase."

The man ducked out of the alley and lost himself amongst the crowd, bowing under the umbrellas fanned over the horde and managing to keep himself relatively dry. "Don't I usually?"

"I'm the brains, you're the brawn. That's how it's supposed to be."

He couldn't keep the smirk from forming on his lips. "Are you calling me dumb?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

He chuckled. "Probably not."

"Very good choice. Now, leave me alone. I have deviousness to plan."

"Yeah, yeah. Call me when you're done."

"Sure thing, Babe." A click sounded and the line went dead.

The man shook his head, snapped his phone shut, and melted into the slew of people crowding the busy sidewalk, following the same path the young couple had taken.

.o.O.o.

Clary walked as quickly as she could given the soreness of her ankle. She'd never been one to let something like that stop her—regardless of her wimpy-ness in relation to pain—but walking like that had been incredibly stupid. At that moment, all she'd wanted was to put Jace in his place—to show him she could and would take care of herself. But now, she really wished she'd listened and taken the subway.

Clary knew Jace followed closely behind her. Even without looking, she knew. She could feel him. Her body recognized the now familiar hum radiating off from him. It was scary how that worked. But, as creepy as it was, she knew no matter where she was, in a crowded room or in the midst of the bustle of rush hour foot-traffic—even if it was pitch-black and she was blind, that energy would draw her to him. As the old saying went: Like a moth to a flame. He was the dangerously hot, burning flame and she was the stupid, insignificant moth that couldn't seem to keep herself from being drawn into his heat. He was so much larger and brighter and unsafe, but she didn't care. She wanted him all the same.

Her gait grew slower and her limp more pronounced the further she walked. She used the pain to try to shut out the images of Aline with her paws all over him. Of all the people, why her? Why. _Her_. Clary hated Aline. And the funny thing was, she hated her mostly because Jace seemed to want her. Clary could deal with girls being bitchy to her. Hell, she could dish it back just as well. But . . . not with him wanting them when he didn't want her.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, held it for a few seconds, and opened her eyes once more. Why should she care? Why? She knew how he was. He'd warned her, but she didn't listen. She didn't want to listen. Because . . . somewhere deep inside she felt it was a lie. That it was a way for him to keep people out, to push them away. She didn't want to be pushed away. She wanted to be pulled in, for him to _want_ to pull her in.

People shoved past her, annoyed expressions plastered to their faces as they hurried to get out of the rain. At least they had umbrellas. Clary just had her hoodie, which was soaked through and clinging to her body uncomfortably. She shivered against the cold sting of the rain pelting her face.

Jace continued to keep his distance, but stayed near enough that if anything happened he could intervene. It was endearing and annoying at the same time. The anger she felt toward him waned the longer she walked. She tried to blame her momentary lapses of sanity on the pain of her ankle getting to her, but she knew it was more than that. As much as she wanted to and had the right to feel used and angry, she couldn't seem to stay that way with him. There was some reason he kept shutting her out. Clary had no idea what it was, but it was plain in the lines of his face that he wasn't acting of his own free will. He wanted something completely different from what he allowed himself to have. She was sure of it. But did she really want to know what that was?

With a relieved sigh, Clary finally spotted their building looming in the gloom in front of them. She stepped off the curb, and one of the passersby bumped into her shoulder, sending her tripping off the curb and landing hard on her sore foot. She felt her ankle twist the wrong way. Her leg buckled beneath her and she cried out, extending her arms to brace her fall. But the fall never came. A strong hand grabbed her and pulled her upright, while another snaked around her waist to keep her steady. A jolt of heat shot through her. Clary tested her ankle by putting weight on it and found it to be all right, so she pushed away from Jace's grasp and continued to cross the street on her own. If she wanted even a chance of getting away from him tonight without making a bigger fool out of herself, she had to keep her distance. He couldn't touch her. Though, her body begged her to reconsider. Just that brief moment of Jace's hands on her had been enough to make her skin tingle in anticipation.

"You're welcome," he called out from behind her.

Clary stopped abruptly in her tracks. Anger rippled down her spine and churned in her stomach. Rain pounded on the sidewalk around her, streaming down her head and into her eyes. Clary took in a deep breath and turned, finding Jace standing just a few feet away, soaking wet and staring at her with an expression hovering between aggravated and hurt. Guilt pulled at her conscience, but she pushed it away, focusing on her own hurt, her own anger. He had no right to feel hurt. No right to _look_ hurt. "What is it, exactly, you think I should be thanking you for?"

Jace raised his brows. "For not letting you fall on your face, for one. And for two, making sure you got home without being abducted or killed since you so carelessly decided to throw caution away and walk. What the hell, Clary? Don't you give a damn about your own safety?"

Clary laughed, only able to focus on one thing he'd said. "Do you think falling back there would have made any difference? You already let me metaphorically face-plant it earlier this evening, remember? I'm not sure my humiliation could get much worse than that."

"Look," he stepped forward, his face hardening and his mouth drawing into a thin line, "what happened earlier . . . it was . . ." Jace faltered, the mask slipping momentarily from his face as he turned away. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

Clary let out a frustrated groan. "Just save it, Jace. All right? I don't want to hear it anymore. I'm so tired of the excuses and the hot and cold act. I'm done with it. _Done_. You got it. You won."

He turned toward her, rain falling over his head and dripping down the thick, blond curls into his face. "What the hell do you want from me, Clary?" His eyes flashed with twisted mix of anger and frustration.

Clary pushed a handful of sopping wet hair from her eyes and stared up at him. "I don't know. I guess . . . I just want you to be honest. Just one time, be honest with me."

Jace threw his hands up into the air and then let them fall to his sides. Water flung off from his arms at the motion. "Be honest about what?" He took a step forward. "Just what is it you don't think I'm being honest about here?"

"Everything! Who you are. What you want." She lowered her voice. "How you feel. You're constantly flip-flopping and hiding."

"Jesus Christ." He turned away, shaking his head, a pained laugh escaping from his chest. After a moment, he faced her again, an unfeeling sneer stretching across his lips. "You want to know who I am?" Jace spread his arms wide, water dripping from his soaked jacket to the ground. Rain poured down from the sky and trailed in streams over his face, droplets clinging to his lashes. His eyes bored into hers, not a trace of the warmth or playfulness she'd seen in them earlier was present now. There was only anger. Only pain. "What you see is what you get, baby. This is me. I'm an asshole. Pure and simple. I've never pretended to be anything but that. I've tried to tell you. Over and over again, but you refuse to listen."

"And I told _you_ I don't believe that!" Clary stepped forward until she stood just in front of him. She raised her face to his, ignoring the water falling into her eyes. "What you are is a liar. And you know what's really sad? The person you're lying to most is yourself. You walk around like you care about nothing. Like you _feel_ nothing. But I know that's not true! I've seen you care."

"Care about what? What exactly is it you've seen me care about?"

"Me," she said, her voice catching. She swallowed against it. "I've seen you care about me."

Jace leaned in, his nose nearly touching hers. "Don't delude yourself into thinking what happened today means something it doesn't."

Clary narrowed her eyes and pushed her face closer to his. "I'm not deluding myself. I know exactly what this is, what it's been. I know what kind of guy you are, Jace. Or at least what kind of guy you _say_ you are. I never once thought I was the girl to tame you or to make you commit. That isn't what this has been about. We wanted something from each other today and we took it. I'm not sorry about that and I'm not asking you for anything other than the truth. I'm not stupid enough to think you'd give it to me anyway. That you ever have."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Clary sucked in a breath and stepped back, her eyes raking over his face. "It means, I'm perfectly aware that this hasn't been any kind of relationship. That I haven't been the only one you're messing around with, and that I have no claim, or rights, to you. I knew it from the beginning, and I know it now."

Jace let out a pained laugh. "Oh, you know do you?" His feet moved him forward and Clary backed away slowly until she hit the wall of the building behind her. He crowded in on her, his wet body pressing into hers as his face hovered above.

She swallowed and nodded.

His eyes studied hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of . . . something run through them, and then they were dark again. "Then you're even more unintelligent than I thought." Jace stepped back, a sheet of rain flowing between them. "I may be a lot of things—an ass for starters, and even a liar . . . but I never lied about what was going on here, between us. I never made it into more or less."

Clary swallowed, her throat feeling tight with an emotion she wasn't familiar with and that she didn't understand.

"And for the record, Clary, I've never denied being a player. You know this. I've never once in my life been monogamous. It's just never been me." Jace's voice faltered and in that moment, something in his expression cracked. His eyes turned pained, like the words he was about to say were hard for him to get out. "But, since I've been doing . . . whatever this is . . . with you? There's been no one else." Jace shook his head, a sneer transforming his face again. "What the hell is that?" He thrust his arms wide once more. "Me. The ultimate Casanova, right? That's what you call me?"

In a quick movement, he was pressed up against her once more, his hand grasping her face, tight but not painful. "Not one touch, not one kiss. No groping. No dancing. No sex. Not anything but those couple of kisses with you. And I hate it. I hate you. I hate you for making me want you so much that I can't stand the thought of touching someone else. For looking at me with that God damned look . . . For touching me and making me . . ." Jace closed his eyes for a brief second before focusing back on her face. His other hand came up and his fingers dug into her jaw. "I don't _want_ to want you. I don't want my body to ache for you. This isn't who I am. It's not how I work. But, damn it, if I don't want you all the damn time." His voice lowered to a whisper. "God, I hate you, and I want you all at the same time. Right now, I want you so damn bad, and when I leave, I'll want you still."

Clary sucked in a painful, shuttering breath. The weight of his words pressing down on her with so much force she could barely breathe.

"Are you happy now?" Jace shook his head, his own breathing unsteady, his voice defeated. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Does that make all of this better?" He stepped back and lifted his arms again, letting them fall limply to his sides. His face fell, creases forming on his brow. "Now that you know . . . now that you've heard . . . is it better? Because it doesn't change a damn thing for me. It doesn't make this," he moved his finger between the two of them, "any more feasible. It's still just as impossible as it was before."

Clary didn't understand what he meant. Why was it impossible? She swallowed and gathered her courage. If he could do it, then so could she. "Why is it impossible? If you want me, why don't you just take me?" She reached up, fisting her hands into his jacket, the fabric drenched and slippery under her fingers, and pulled him back to her. Jace's mouth hovered just in front of hers, so close all she needed to do was lean in. She could already feel the warmth of his breath on her cheeks. "I'm right here," she whispered. "I want you to take me, so just do it. _Take me_."

Both of their shoulders heaved, their breath forming white puffs in the chilled air. Jace closed his eyes and Clary saw him fighting it. She didn't know why, but she knew he was. He shook his head. "I can't."

"Stop fighting," she said, her fingers trembling in his jacket. "Why are you fighting? It's just you and it's just me. I want you and you want me. So, let's just . . ." Clary pressed her forehead to his, breathing in his hot breath, wanting so badly to taste him again. "Give in."

Jace placed his hands on the wall at either side of her head. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I don't care," she said. "I'm tired of thinking, of waiting, of pushing back. Right now, right here, this is what I want. _You_ are what I want." Her hands lowered from his jacket to his hips and pulled him flush against her. "Tomorrow we can figure this out. But tonight? God, just . . ." she leaned in and rubbed her lips against his, teasing with the lightest touch, "give in."

He closed his eyes, the rain still pouring over them and trailing over their lips. "This is so stupid. So God damned stupid," Jace whispered almost to himself as his hands moved to her head. Removing the clip from her hair, his fingers knotted into her red locks. "I shouldn't . . ."

Clary slipped her thumbs through his belt loops and pulled him closer, her heart pounding in her chest. "No more thinking, Jace," she spoke against his lips. "Just . . . kiss me."

Jace sucked in a breath through his teeth and muttered a pained, "Damn it," before his mouth descended on hers. His fists tightened in her hair as he curved in around her, trapping her effectively against the brick wall. Clary's body nearly exploded with relief. Everything about him was magnified in that moment. The feel of his lips on hers, insistent and filled with want. The pressure of his body against her, hard and strong and all male. She shuddered and opened herself up to him, her hands moving up his back and wrapping around his neck, her fingers twirling into his dripping hair. His mouth was warm, wet, and so soft. He tasted like passion, desire, and need, all wrapped up in one searing kiss. A flash of light lit the sky and a loud clap of thunder broke through the air, startling Clary.

"We should go inside," she said against his mouth.

"Where?" he asked between kisses, his hands now gripping her waist frantically.

"Um, well, Simon will be back soon and I don't know where Izzy is."

Jace paused, and nodded curtly. "My place then. Alec's still at the club and probably will be for . . . awhile."

Before Clary had a chance to reply, Jace bent at the knee and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

"I can walk, you know!"

Jace rushed through the door of their apartment building and was halfway up the stairs before he responded. "Too slow with that ankle."

Clary snorted. "I hope your impatience isn't an indication of your performance. If so, I'm going to be hugely disappointed."

He chuckled. "That's not anything you ever need to worry about, Spitfire."

A shiver worked its way through Clary's body at his words.

Jace continued up the stairs until he reached his apartment. After a moment of fumbling with the key, and a few curses muttered in an exasperated breath, he threw open the door and they were met with pitch darkness. He moved through the living room quickly, not setting Clary down until he'd reached his bedroom. Once there, he pushed her back against the door and pressed into her. Leaning in, he took her mouth once more, but this time it wasn't hard and forceful. It was slow, lingering, and almost . . . sweet.

He pulled back, leaving his forehead against hers, his breathing heavy and fast. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," Clary said, her voice shaking for some unknown reason. It wasn't like she'd never done this before. But this felt different. She'd never wanted anyone like she wanted him. The force of it burned through her, leaving her aching.

"Then I have one last question," Jace's fingers traced along her side, his breath hot on her neck, "and I need to know now before we start and you're incapable of forming a coherent thought."

God, he was an ass even now, though she didn't doubt his words since she already felt a little disjointed. "What?" Clary asked, her eyes threatening to close as he continued to touch her, his fingers dipping underneath her wet hoodie and shirt until they brushed along her chilled flesh. Goosebumps rippled over her skin even though his touch scorched her like a flame.

He reached over to the dresser next to them and opened the top drawer. Holding up a small, square package, he asked, "Do you have a preference?"

Her eyes moved to his hand, taking in the shape and the meaning. For a moment, all lucid thought did leave her mind, and she silently cursed him for being able to do it before anything really started. Clary met his gaze and he peered at her expectantly. God, they were going to do this. Really do this. She swallowed and shook herself out of whatever daze she'd gone into. "No."

Jace nodded. "Okay then." Reaching inside the drawer once more, he grabbed a handful of square packages and threw them to the bed. They bounced around the comforter, some falling off the edge and onto the floor. Clary's eyes widened and his mouth curved into his lady-killer grin. "Nervous, Spitfire?"

Scowling, she pulled him against her. "Not on your life, Cass." Clary reached up and clutched his face, crashing her lips to his.

His hands went immediately to her sopping wet hoodie and peeled it from her body. Clary worked on his jacket, but couldn't seem to get it off from him. She tugged against it and let out a frustrated groan when it wouldn't budge.

Jace laughed against her mouth. "Now who's impatient?"

"Damn it. Stop teasing and take it off. Now," she growled at him.

His eyes turned dark and he ripped the jacket off, throwing it to the floor. Once it was gone, he reached up and grabbed her face, pulling it to his and kissing her so deeply she felt it throughout her entire body. Her back pressed hard into the door and it should have hurt, but God if she'd never felt better in her life. Every part of her hummed in want.

Clary clutched at his shirt and yanked it up over his head, barely stifling the whimper that worked its way from her chest at the sight of him. Her fingers moved up his arm, tracing the thick, slightly raised black lines of his tattoo all the way to where it ended at his collar bone. She lowered her lips to his shoulder, running them along the design in his skin. "I freaking love this tattoo."

"Freaking?" He pulled back and smirked at her.

"What? I don't like the f-word. It's disgusting."

Jace leaned in and slid his mouth up her neck, stopping at her ear. "Don't like saying it or doing it?"

Clary dropped her head back as he made his way back down and nipped at the flesh under her chin. "God, you're an ass."

He chuckled into her skin and stood abruptly, taking her face between his hands. "I think we've already had this discussion, haven't we, baby?"After a quick nip at her bottom lip, Jace reached around and grabbed the back of Clary's thighs, hoisting her onto his hips.

She gasped as he whirled them toward the bed and she clutched onto him, her fingers buried in his hair. When he reached the edge, he dropped her onto the mattress and quickly did away with her pants and shirt, peeling them skillfully from her body. Clary had no idea how he got them off so easily seeing as they were jeans and wet, but at that point, she couldn't find it in herself to care. Jace's eyes raked over her, and she felt heat rise into her cheeks. The way he looked at her did very strange things to her body. Very good, very delicious things.

Jace said nothing, but his hands slid up her legs, over her thighs, and lingered along the edge of the black lace cheekies stretching across her hips. She'd never been so thankful for having the foresight to wear them in her life.

A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and Jace wrenched the material down on the side, lowering his lips to the previously hidden skin and sucking it gently into his mouth while his hands moved up to her waist. Clary's breathing stuttered at the feel of his lips against her hip. He bit down lightly, making her eyes nearly roll back into her head. She sprang up to sit on the end of the bed, and he straightened slowly, his eyes on hers at all times. Clary's stomach twisted under the heat of his stare.

No longer able to wait, she reached out and grabbed his belt, tugging on it gently. "You're wearing too many clothes."

This time Jace didn't smirk, he just gazed down at her. "What would you like me to take off?" His voice was quiet and rough, not an ounce of his normal cockiness present.

Clary held her breath, slid forward, and brought her hands up to his waist, her thumb rubbing against the ink on his side. She leaned in and touched her lips to his abs, moving her mouth over the taut muscles and tracing it along the grooves between each. Clary felt his stomach contract and his hands work their way up into her hair, fisting into her curls as a gust of air escaped from his lips. She smiled, knowing she was the one causing him to react that way. "All of it," she said into his skin.

Jace slipped his hands to either side of her face, his fingers still threading into her hair as he guided her up to stand. Her palms followed her ascent, gliding up his sides and over his smooth chest. His skin was so incredibly warm and soft. Clary had never really thought to describe a guy's skin as soft before, but his was. So much so that she couldn't stop rubbing her hands over it and savoring the feel of it against her own flesh. The same electricity that seemed to radiate from them at all times increased and sparked between them, begging to draw them closer. Once Clary stood at full height, Jace lowered his mouth to hers, his lips and tongue insistent.

She felt him all around her. His hands holding her face, his taste flooding into her mouth, his body pressed against hers. He was everything and everywhere in that moment. And, like the previous times, it was too much and not enough at the same time.

Clary lowered her trembling fingers to his belt, undoing it carefully. It slipped through the loops and clattered to the floor. Jace continued to kiss her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, never pausing or stopping for even a second. Clary's hands steadily worked his pants and boxers, tugging them over his hips and pushing them down his legs until they, too, were a heap on the floor. She moved back slightly and looked down, her eyes taking him in. And God, he was beautiful. Every single inch of flesh, beautiful. She was pretty sure she whimpered at the sight of him.

Clary's hands traveled along his chest, fingers memorizing every dip and groove, all the way down as far as she could reach. She wanted nothing more than to let her fingers touch and explore every part of him.

Jace exhaled and dipped his head to hers, his lips finding her hairline and dropping tiny kisses to her forehead as his hands cupped her neck. Warmth spread throughout Clary's chest and down to her thighs. She lifted her face, her mouth searching until it found his.

Jace's hands moved from her neck down her back, working the clasp on her bra until it fell loose and he pulled it from her shoulders. His fingers traced along her collarbone and across the top of her chest until his palm cupped her exposed flesh. Clary's eyes closed and her breath caught. Jace placed one last kiss to her mouth and backed away, moving down her body only stopping to nip and suck bits of her skin into his mouth as he made his way down onto his knees. Once he knelt in front of her, he hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties, slipping them slowly, torturously, down her legs, his fingers lingering along her flesh with a touch so light and teasing she wanted to scream. As he finished removing the last piece of fabric covering her, his hands ran back up her legs, slid over her hips, and settled on her waist. Jace's lips covered the expanse of her stomach, leaving behind soft, wet kisses while moving from one hip to the other.

Clary's entire body trembled and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, pulling against him. "Jace," she said, his name nothing but a breath.

He looked up, his eyes dark and wide as they met hers.

"Come back up here." She tugged against him once more, needing to feel him against her, to devour his mouth again.

Jace placed another kiss to her stomach and rose to his feet. Now they both stood there, completely naked in front of each other. He moved his hands up her body until they reached her face and he cradled her cheeks between them. Clary felt her fingers tremble against his waist and hoped to God he wouldn't notice, but knew he had when he reached down and entwined his fingers with hers. The gesture seemed so intimate, so caring, Clary's chest squeezed and her throat tightened.

Jace dipped his face, his lips trailing softly down her neck. Clary leaned her forehead against him and breathed out a shaking breath. Closing her eyes, she begged he wouldn't stop and ask her what was wrong because she didn't know if she could tell him. It wasn't like anything she'd felt before. Maybe it was just that it had been a long time or maybe it was—God, she had no idea, but she knew she didn't want it to stop.

Swallowing against the strange feeling boiling up inside her, Clary grabbed his face, pulling his mouth to hers. Jace's arms wrapped around her and he lifted her slightly, twisting them around and sitting down on the edge of the bed. She moved her legs to either side of his until she straddled his thighs. His fingers clutched her waist hard as he pulled her against him, his mouth adamant on hers.

Before Clary's mind made her second guess her decision, she reached behind Jace and grabbed one of the square packages. She ripped it open as he continued to kiss her, his hands everywhere, touching, digging, grabbing. It felt so distractingly incredible, she wasn't sure she could accomplish the task at hand without fumbling like an inexperienced idiot. To her surprise, her fingers stayed confident as she positioned and rolled it onto him with ease. His breath faltered and fingers tightened in her skin as she touched him.

After flinging the empty package to the floor, Clary placed her palms to his shoulders and raised herself up onto her knees. Jace's hands moved to her hips, guiding her to him. Her heart thudded in her chest as she hovered over him. Their eyes met and she was startled by what she saw. Gone was the self absorbed, cocky, ass that normally lived in them. Now, he looked different. Calmer, exposed, and if she wasn't mistaken a little . . . scared. With her eyes still on his, she made to move down and his fingers tightened on her flesh, stopping her.

"Wait," Jace said quietly.

Clary froze. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just . . . are you _really_ sure about this? Once we let it go this far, we can't take it back."

"Isn't it a little late to be asking me that?"

His eyes bored into hers, the strange openness still showing through. "It's never too late to give you an out. I'm giving you an out."

Clary searched his face, looking for even a trace of the guy he'd been earlier that night, but there was none. There was only this Jace. The one who looked the same and felt the same under her fingers, but the words he spoke and the looks he gave were completely different. This was the Jace she'd glimpsed under the fake stars. The one who'd wrapped her ankle and touched her so carefully, as if she would crumble under his fingers. The one who'd insisted on protecting her no matter how much she protested. This was the Jace she wanted. The one she'd been looking for. The one she knew he really was deep inside.

Clary reached up and ran her hands over his cheeks, letting her fingers linger along his jaw. "I don't want an out. I want you."

Jace stared at her for a few more moments, his eyes searching and vulnerable, and then he loosened his grip on her hips, his fingers gliding along her skin and causing chills to rock through her. Clary kept her eyes on his, not so much as blinking, as she slowly lowered herself onto him. The relief was instantaneous. All of the tension, the yearning, the need, vanished for that split second.

Jace closed his eyes and a deep gust of breath left them both. For several long moments afterward, neither of them moved, neither of them breathed. They just stayed there, joined and still. The intense pull that constantly tugged at them had been momentarily calmed, but Clary felt it flickering in the background begging for her to move and let her body really have him the way it craved.

Finally, she sucked in a breath, her gaze still on his as he opened his eyes once more, the same defenselessness reflected out at her. She carefully brushed a few fallen curls away from his forehead, took his face between her hands, and pressed her lips to his. He slid his palms slowly up her back, one wrapping around to hold her against him and the other fanning across the back of her neck. He kissed her gently, his mouth and tongue perfectly in time with hers. And then, because she was the one in control, she slowly started to move above him.

Sensation ripped through her body and her fingers curled into his hair, her breath coming in short gasps against his face. Jace's eyes closed again and his grip on her tightened, fingertips pressing into her flesh and grasping at her desperately. He lowered his head to her shoulder, his lips running along her heated skin. It was fire and need and lust, all wrapped up inside their entwined bodies. The more Clary moved, the more she needed. The harder Jace grabbed her, the harder she wished he would. The feeling of his hands on her, his body against hers, his breath washing over her, was enough to make her lose herself in him.

Clary pulled his face up to meet hers. For some reason, she felt an uncontrollable need to see him. His eyes locked with hers, and her heart continued to thud as she let herself fall into him.

Clary lowered her lips to his once more, kissing him softer than she'd intended, but found that it felt just right. Jace's fingers tightened on her hips and hers dug into his shoulders as they moved together flawlessly. Just as she recognized herself about to spiral, she heard and felt him whispering against her mouth. At first, it was hard to make out, but then it became clear, and there was no mistaking his words.

"Please don't fall in love with me, Clary. Please don't fall in love with me," he pleaded, and then, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," over and over again as they both started losing control, their movements more frantic, their breathing less controlled.

Something snapped inside of Clary in that instant and she closed her eyes, pressing her lips to his harder and holding him tighter against her. She needed him right there. His body joined with her body. His breath mingled with her breath. Falling down into whatever this was together, with no one there to catch them but each other. As much as he didn't want it, and had so much as begged her not to, there wasn't a single doubt in her mind that it was going to happen. And somewhere deep down inside, she knew that no matter what she did, or how much she tried to deny it, it already had.

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_I have nothing to add—except my everlasting thanks to my beta, LLWB, for her pure awesomeness. Love you, girl._

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	12. Please Me, Tease Me, See Me

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**11. Please Me, Tease Me, See Me**

**A Note: My Spanish translator is actually _Spanish_, as in from Spain. So, any small "differences" you may find from what you might be familiar with—this is why. I'm confident the translations are correct, as my translator speaks Spanish as her first language and I trust her completely to give DJ his schmexy Spanish words (gracias, niniadepapa *muah*).**

Btw, as tacky as I think it looks, I'm leaving the translations of the Spanish in parentheses next to the phrases. *Sigh.* I hate it, but I don't want you to have to scroll down to see what he's saying—and trust me, you'll want to know what he's saying. ;)

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Stay – Shakespeare's Sister_

_**Hot – Avril Lavigne_

_**Mercy - OneRepublic_

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A low, distant rumbling disrupted the silence of the night. The rain had slowed to a mere drizzle, but lightning still illuminated the sky in quick flashes. The last sprinkles dotted the window, and the tiny, clear pebbles obscured any view to the street below. Not that anyone was looking, anyway.

Jace sat, his head bowed, at the edge of the bed, the covers twisted and untucked from the end of the mattress. His hands trembled against his thighs. He clenched and unclenched his fists, but that only made it worse.

Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes fell on Clary's sleeping form, the sheet draped loosely over her body, her bare hip peeking from beneath. He had the undeniable urge to run his hand over it, feeling the silky softness under his fingers once more. Her face looked peaceful and untroubled—the exact opposite of how he felt. Jace wished he could lie back down beside her and let sleep claim him too. But he couldn't stop his damn hands from shaking.

He closed his eyes and turned back around just as another flash of light brightened the room, highlighting the outlines of its contents briefly before flickering back to black. It wasn't the norm for him to let girls stay over. In fact, Jace couldn't remember a single time he had, or that he had stayed with any of them. Usually, he was the "love 'em and leave 'em" type. Not that any of the girls complained. This was spelled out ahead of time, and taken as a given. But with Clary, nothing had happened in the way he would have expected. Being with her had been unlike anything he had ever experienced. The way she'd moved over him, touched him, kissed him, was just so much . . . more.

When it was over, she'd collapsed into him, her body limp and shaking. They hadn't spoken—there was nothing to say. He'd just held her, waiting until both of their breathing settled and their hearts calmed. Clary had kept her arms draped around him and turned her face into the crook of his neck, her warm breath fanning over his skin. Never before had Jace wanted to hold a girl afterward. Never had he wanted to touch his lips to her head and breathe her in. But with Clary . . .

God, what had he done? He'd promised himself, and everyone else, he wouldn't let something like this happen, yet, there he was. How could he do this to the case? To her? Why couldn't he resist her? Why did his body burn with a single touch of her hand? Why hadn't the need for her lessened? In the past, it had only taken one time. One night, and all the lust and longing disappeared. But not this time. This time, it had only grown.

Jace didn't understand the feelings festering inside him, nor the things he'd felt hours before when he'd allowed her complete control over him. And he _had_ allowed it—not something he ever did. He liked being the one in control. Liked seeing the way he could make a woman fall apart at his hand. And he had, many times over. But last night, he'd given Clary free reign over him. She'd known what she wanted, and he'd let her have it, wanted her to have it. To have him.

The way she'd touched him . . . like he was precious. Like he was worthy. He hadn't expected that, and the confusion he felt because of it overwhelmed him. Clary looked at him like no one had ever looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent as they took him in, her fingers dancing over him with awe and desire. So careful, so gentle, yet with so much passion it had nearly broken him. He didn't deserve her looks or her touch, but she'd given them anyway. And he liked that she had. Jace wanted her to look at him that way again, to touch him again, to lie with him again, and again, and again. He shouldn't want her like this, he knew he shouldn't. But he did. God, he did.

Jace exhaled shakily and lowered his face into his hands. His chest hurt. His head hurt. Why did he hurt? Not in a physical way, but it almost seemed worse than that. What the hell was happening to him?

Thunder still spoke to the night, but it had calmed and the lightning came less often. Jace didn't know how long he sat there, his eyes covered by his trembling hands before he felt the bed shift behind him.

"Jace?" Clary's voice came soft and quiet, startling him. "What're you doing?"

He felt her just at his back, her heat seeping into his skin even though she didn't touch him. Jace lowered his hands but kept his eyes closed. "Nothing." His voice sounded hollow and far away, even to his own ears.

After a moment, he felt a light, warm touch to his shoulder and he flinched, involuntarily, away from it. Clary sucked in a breath and withdrew her hand. Jace felt the loss of it instantly.

"I . . ." she faltered. "Maybe I should go."

The mattress below him rose slightly, and he felt her move away. Unease grew in his chest, and without looking, he reached back and grasped her fingers. "No." Turning slowly, he met her wide, curious eyes in the dark. He didn't know what the hell he was doing, but he knew with absolute confidence he didn't want her to go. God, he was going to hell, he knew he was, but he couldn't stop himself. Jace's throat tightened around everything he wanted to say, but one whispered word managed to slip through.

"Stay."

Clary's brows rose and she swallowed. Uncertainty swam in her eyes, but she conceded anyway. "Okay." She looked down and Jace followed her gaze to where her hand lay encased in his. "You're shaking," she said quietly, and then looked up once more.

Jace let out an unsteady breath and met her eyes.

Clary studied him for a moment, her face softening before she moved back slowly and pulled against his arm. "Come here," she said.

He obeyed, no questions asked. Clary lay down on her back and Jace settled beside her. Flipping over onto her side, she met his gaze and lifted a hand to his cheek, her fingers tracing softly over his brow. Jace closed his eyes and allowed the feeling of her touch to take over. Clary continued her gentle strokes, touching every part of his face and then trailing down his neck, over his shoulders, and finally ending at his hand where she laced their fingers together. Jace felt the tightness in his chest abate and the trembling decrease. His entire body relaxed and his mind quieted. He breathed out slowly, feeling as the strange anxiety that had been present just moments before slipped away like sand through a sieve.

After several minutes, Clary's quiet voice disrupted the silence. "I like you like this," she said.

Jace opened his eyes and lifted one brow. "Like what? Naked?" A small smirk settled on his lips. "I'm not surprised. In fact, I'd be quite insulted if you didn't."

Clary rolled her eyes, but smiled anyway. "No—well, yes—but that's not what I meant."

He reached up and brushed a few red strands out of her face, noticing the tremor in his hand was gone. "Then what did you mean?"

Clary studied him a moment longer before lifting her hand to run her fingers along his cheekbone once more, her eyes moving from one of his to the other. "Without the mask." She paused. "Not that I don't enjoy a good dose of your assyness, but . . . this is nice. I like when you let me see you."

Jace felt his chest tighten once more, but not in the way it had earlier. He scooted a little closer, his hand gently cupping the swell of her hip. "You like me, Spitfire?" he said, teasingly.

"I think I proved that last night, Cass."

He shook his head and allowed his hand to creep up, settling in the dip of her waist. His fingers itched to explore her entire body again. "That just proved you wanted me, not that you liked me." Leaning in, he touched his lips to her shoulder and ran them along her smooth flesh until they reached her jaw. "You can sleep with someone and not really like them."

Jace heard her breath hitch as a tremor shook her, and he smiled into her skin. Clary pulled back and tucked two fingers under his chin, lifting until he was forced to meet her gaze. Her eyes locked on his. All traces of teasing left her face.

"I can't," she said.

He swallowed hard and felt his eyes widen.

Clary rolled hers. "Come on, Jace, it's not like I'm declaring my undying love or anything."

"I never said you were." Jace struggled to compose himself.

"You didn't have to. The look on your face said it all." Biting her lip, she glanced up at him from under her lashes. The action made him want to suck her lip until it came out from between her teeth. "But, I'm not going to lie and say I don't like you. For whatever reason, I do. I may not understand you to save my life. But I do like you." After a moment, she flopped back onto the mattress and laughed. "God, you're such a guy."

He chuckled. "Of course I am. I think I more than proved that." Jace rolled over and grabbed her leg under the knee, hitching it up over his hip. "If you'd like, I could prove it again," he whispered, rubbing his nose along the sensitive flesh just below her ear. She shivered with the movement.

Clary threaded her fingers into his hair, tugging lightly on the strands. He moved back and met her stare. "Is that supposed to be a threat, Cass?" She smiled and raised a brow. "Because if it is, you know I'm more than able to keep up."

Jace shifted until his body covered hers. Warmth flowed through him as he pressed against her, and she raised her knees, hugging him between her thighs. It felt so indescribably good to be there with her that Jace forgot all of the rationalizations why he shouldn't be doing exactly what he was about to do. For whatever reason, this girl made him lose his sense, and a large part of him liked that, liked how out of control she made him feel. He'd spent so long having to be grounded, disciplined, that letting loose and just feeling had him intoxicated.

Jace held himself up with his elbows and couldn't help but return her grin. Clary's hands left his neck and slid down to his shoulders, her fingers curling into his skin. Sparks ignited between them, flaming just as hot as they had the night before. Her eyes burned into him, beckoning him to come. And then he was gone. She had him, all of him, twisted up and lost in her. Leaning in, Jace brushed his lips against hers and said, "I knew you couldn't resist, Spitfire."

.o.O.o.

Gray clouds hung ominously in the sky and large puddles pooled in the low lying areas of the street. Clary tried her best to sidestep them, not having planned her shoe apparel appropriately for wetness. A chilly breeze wafted through the air, carrying the last of the moisture from the storm the night before. Loose brown, red, and yellow leaves drifted from large trees to the ground below. The weather evoked a quiet, depressed sort of feeling, but not even that could lower Clary's spirits. Her body hummed with pleasant vibrations. Not a single ounce of stress remained in her muscles. A probably silly-looking smile stretched across her face, and people most likely thought she was insane. But she couldn't care less. For the first time in a long time, she felt good. Really, really good.

A horn blared to her left, breaking her out of her happy place, and she startled. Holding one hand up in apology and the other to her racing heart, she hurried the best she could on her stiff ankle to the other side of the street.

The main quad of the campus loomed straight ahead. Students moved from building to building, textbooks clutched in their hands and backpacks hugging their frames. Clary walked to the main courtyard where she was supposed to meet Maia before their first class. She tried to focus on the present, but couldn't help when her thoughts kept straying to the night before. The desperate touches, heated kisses, murmured words, all of it replayed over and over in her mind like a soundtrack on repeat. A chill swept down her spine at the memory.

Leaving that morning had been beyond difficult. She'd awoken to dull gray light streaming in the window, and the covers twisted around her naked body. Her limbs were stiff and sore, but not in a way that was unpleasant. Jace lay on his stomach, his face turned toward her with several unruly curls strewn over his forehead. His back rose and fell steadily in sleep.

Clary took several minutes to just look at him, studying the way his firm, tattooed arm hooked up and disappeared under the pillow, remembering how they'd felt wrapped around her. How warm, safe, and extraordinary he'd made her feel. The sheet just barely covered his perfect, bronze ass, but left the rest of his sprawled out body on display for her to see. She wanted to touch him, and God, she wanted to kiss him, but she managed to restrain herself, letting him sleep.

The thought crossed her mind about what would happen now. Would they just go back to the way things were and pretend nothing happened? Would they be friends? Would they continue to do this if they were just friends? Could she do that?

Jace had made it clear that he'd never been in a serious-type relationship, and from his whispered pleas for her not to fall in love with him, it didn't seem like he was interested in one now. If Clary was perfectly honest, she'd never had a relationship like that either. Boyfriends had come and gone—nothing too serious. But she'd never been with more than one person at a time. She didn't do casual.

She'd considered these things the night before, but at the time, she didn't care. He'd stood before her, his eyes so open and vulnerable, and said he wanted her. She couldn't stop herself from taking what he offered. What she'd wanted him to offer for so long. And she'd refused to let herself question that. It was what it was.

But now, in the light of day and under the weight of everything they'd said and done, she had no idea what to do. Finally, she decided she'd just wait and see. There was nothing she could, nor that she wanted, to do to change what had happened between them. So, she'd decided to just let herself feel good. To feel happy. To let everything happen how it would, without the worry and doubts she'd normally let plague her. Even though, more than anything, she wished she could curl back up next to him, wake him gently, and wrap her body around him once more. Taking and giving, and feeling like, just for that moment, he was hers.

Closing her eyes briefly and drawing in a breath, Clary stepped onto the covered walkway containing the student mailboxes. Maia stood lounging against the wall, her hair poofy and frizzing up in the damp weather. She twirled a set of keys around her index finger, whistling as she watched the other students pass by. Clary stepped up to her, doing her best to push thoughts of Jace from her mind.

"Hey, sorry I'm late."

Maia raised her brows and pushed back the sleeve of her brown corduroy jacket, glancing down at her watch. "Are you? Huh, I hadn't noticed." She looked up and frowned. "Jesus, you look like hell."

Clary rolled her eyes and moved to the mailbox assigned to her. "Gee, thanks."

"I'm serious." Maia followed her. "Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

A series of images from the night before flooded her mind once more and Clary shivered. "Not really."

"You should take better care of yourself," she scolded. "Sleep is important—unless it's interrupted by some smokin' hottie, which is the only acceptable sleep stealing reason in my opinion." Maia's eyes slid over Clary. "Not that that would be a problem for you."

Clary spun toward Maia, her mouth falling open. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch." Maia rolled her eyes. "I'm not saying you _couldn't_, I just know you wouldn't. One night stands aren't your thing."

A sickening feeling curled in Clary's gut. She swallowed against it. "No. You're right, they're not."

"See. And since I know you're not seeing anyone . . . well, it can't be that, so sleepless nights are pointless for you."

Clary tried to smile, but didn't quite manage it.

"All right, so, I need some caffeine. You wanna get a cup before class?"

Clary shook her head, her stomach rolling. "No. I'm just gonna check my mail and get to class." She needed a moment to clear her head and compose herself. Maia's words struck a chord, one she'd been trying really hard not to focus on.

"Fine." Maia turned and started toward the small snack bar located just inside the main student building. "I'll be back in five."

Clary nodded and turned back to the mailboxes, letting out a slow, calming breath and trying to revive the happy feeling she'd had moments before. She drew her keychain out of her jeans pocket and fumbled with it until she found the small silver key. Placing it hastily in the lock, she twisted and opened the box. A couple of envelopes stared out at her, and she reached in to get them. Just as she pulled her hand out, a voice sounded in her ear.

"Why didn't you wake me, Spitfire?"

Clary squeaked, jumped, and nearly dropped her mail on the ground. Spinning around, she met Jace's golden eyes. And there was the happy again. With a hand raised to her chest, she exhaled. "Jesus, you scared me."

"I would think," Jace cocked his head to the side, "that after last night, you'd remember my name." He drew his lower lip between his teeth.

"Ha-ha." Clary narrowed her eyes and shoved the envelopes into the opening of her bag, noticing her hand shook a little. She clenched her fist to hide it from him. Raising her gaze to his, she smirked. "Maybe you're just not all that memorable."

Jace grinned and released his lip with a small smacking sound, drawing Clary's eyes right to it and causing her heart to flutter just a little in her chest. "Is that so?"

Her pulse picked up speed, blood sailing through her veins. It amazed her how he could affect her like this. She wondered if it would ever go away. "Possibly. Maybe you should remind me, what was your name again?"

"Are you teasing me?" He stalked toward her, and she backed away, giggling nervously.

"I don't know. Who are you?"

"You know, my ego might've been slightly bruised by that if I thought there was even a slim possibility that I failed to leave an impression on you." Clary's back hit the wall of mailboxes behind her. Jace leaned in, his mouth almost touching the arc of her ear and his voice lowering to a near-whisper. "But since I spent most of the night listening to you call my name over and over and _over_ again, I know you're just being a smartass. However, I think I should punish you for teasing me nonetheless."

Clary closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. No matter how much she knew she shouldn't let him get to her—especially considering she had no idea what to make of what happened between them the night before—she couldn't help the anticipation swimming in her stomach. "Jace . . ."

She felt his lips curve into a smile. "That's it, baby." His breath spread over her neck, causing prickles to crawl up her spine. "Say my name. I know you like how it feels in your mouth and how easily it rolls off your tongue."

Clary let out her breath in a gush and heat flooded into her chest. Jace reached up and cupped her cheek, holding her face to him so she couldn't move away. She knew what he was doing, but God help her if she couldn't stop it from happening.

"Jace, please . . ."

"'Please' what, baby? You don't want me to stop. I know you don't want me to stop. So . . ." He brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. _"Dime qué es lo que quieres."_ (Tell me what you want.)

Clary gasped. _Oh, hell. Not the sexy Spanish! _"Jace," she whimpered, her breath growing shallow, "that's not fair."

"Mmm," he hummed, the sound vibrating through her entire body. _"Haré lo que quieras si prometes gemir mi nombre así otra vez. Por favor, nena,"_ his voice lowered to a whisper _"otra vez."_ (I'll do anything you want if you promise to whimper my name like that again. Please, baby, again.)

Clary reached out and wrapped her hands around his biceps, her fingers digging into his jacket. Because she was a glutton for punishment, and he'd asked in that damn sexy Spanish, she said his name again. This time, though, it was barely a breath. "Jace."

Jace's voice grew rough and Clary could feel his lips moving just over the skin of her neck. "You have no idea what it does to me to hear my name coming from your mouth. I can remember every single time you said it last night. Especially when it came out as only a breath, or how it raised an octave with every repeat and got a little more desperate each time I—"

"Okay! Okay!" Clary reached up and covered Jace's mouth with her hand, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. "God, you're an ass!"

He chuckled against her skin and then kissed her palm.

She moved her hand away slowly, warmth rushing into her cheeks as his eyes locked on hers. They were still unguarded and open like the night before. "I think you've made your point." She bent over and placed her hands on her knees, taking in deep breaths and trying to calm her racing heart. After a moment, she glared up at him. "That was just mean. You know what your sexy Spanish does to me."

"I do." He leaned against the mailboxes and crossed his arms over his chest, his smirk growing. "Now you know better than to tease me."

"Yeah, I don't think so." She stood and pushed back her shoulders. "Sooner or later, Cass, I'm going to figure out your weakness, and I'm going to torture you back."

Jace pushed off from the wall and swiped his fingers across her cheek. "And you know I can't wait for you to try, Spitfire. Now, you didn't answer my question."

"Sorry. _Someone_ distracted me. What was your question again?"

"I asked why you didn't wake me up. You know you shouldn't go out alone right now." He stared down at her and she could see the annoyance—or was it anger, she couldn't be sure which—in his eyes.

"And _you_ know how much I hate it when you try to babysit me."

His expression softened. "I was just saying I would have come with you."

Clary swallowed against the strange fullness in her throat at his words. "Simon had an early meeting with one of his professors, so he rode with me. I didn't want to disturb you. I . . ." She took in a deep breath. "I wasn't sure what the . . . uh, rules were with," she gestured between them, but her hand faltered halfway through and fell to her side, "stuff like this."

"'Rules?' 'Stuff like this?'"

She sighed. "You know what I'm talking about, Jace." Clary glanced around and lowered her voice. "I don't make it a habit to just jump into bed with people I'm not . . . _with_."

Jace furrowed his brows and took a step toward her. "Clary, listen—"

"No. Just—" Clary raised her hands, palm out, her heart halting to a near-stop. She really didn't want to hear his inevitable let down. "Just don't, okay? I don't need you to let me down easy. I'm fine. I knew what I was doing last night, and I'll figure out how to act. Just . . . just give me a little time."

Jace moved closer and took her chin in his hand, his fingers warm and light on her skin, and his eyes intent on hers. "Clary, I'm not—"

"Well, well. What do we have here?" Maia's voice came from behind Jace.

Clary flinched and peered behind him. Jace's hand fell from her face and he turned toward the voice as well. Maia stood slightly off to their left with Isabelle at her side. Both girls stared at them in curiosity. Clary swallowed and forced a smile.

"Hey. I didn't think you had class today, Izzy."

"I don't." Isabelle's eyes traveled between Clary and Jace, narrowing slightly when they fell on him. "More research."

"Oh."

Jace shuffled beside her. Clary turned toward him, catching the tail end of a look he gave Isabelle. She furrowed her brows and glanced between the two of them, trying to decipher their silent conversation.

"Well, I should get to the library," Isabelle said after a few moments of glaring at Jace. "Jace, walk with me?" A threatening tone tinged her voice.

Jace stiffened slightly. Clary frowned, wondering what in the world was going on between them. Isabelle moved toward him, grabbed his arm and pulled him after her. Jace gave Clary a look that said, "We'll talk later," and reluctantly followed Isabelle out into the courtyard, jerking his arm away and shoving his hands into his pockets.

Clary watched as they walked away.

Maia moved up beside her and whistled. "Uh-oh, somebody's in trouble."

"Yeah," Clary said slowly. "I wonder why?"

Maia snorted. "Who knows, but does it really surprise you? I mean, that guy's such an ass."

"Mmm." Clary watched as Izzy's dark head and Jace's blond one disappeared into the growing swell of students. "He's not so bad."

Maia rolled her eyes and started walking toward the courtyard Isabelle and Jace had vanished into. "Damn, girl. You really need to get a piece of that, and quick."

"What?" Clary asked, hurrying to catch up. "A piece of what?"

"Him. You know, Motorcycle Hottie."

Clary's mouth dropped open and her face heated.

"Oh, don't give me that look, you know you wanna." She shrugged. "I'm just saying, you should get some because then you could move on and quit lusting after him."

"I'm not 'lusting' after him."

"Oh, no?" Maia said. "Then what's that little drool doing on your chin?"

"Shut up. There's no drool."

Maia chuckled. "Fine, you got me there. But it's pretty hard to mistake the look in your eyes every time you see him."

Clary sighed. "I don't have a look."

Maia stopped and grasped Clary by the shoulders, turning her toward her. "Yes, you do. Everyone can see it. I'm pretty sure even he can see it. He'd be blind not to. You need to get him out of your system. Sometimes the lure is better than the actual thing."

Clary closed her eyes for a moment and then looked back out into the courtyard. Students swarmed the grounds, some running, some walking, others crowding around the large stone tables situated in the center.

"Come on." Maia gestured to Clary. "We're going to be late."

Clary hitched her bag over her shoulder without a word and followed Maia onto the sidewalk, her words swirling around in Clary's mind.

Her friend meant well, she knew she did. But what she didn't know was that Clary had already gotten snagged by that lure. And as bright and shiny and outstandingly amazing as that lure was, there was no doubt in her mind that the actual thing would be so much better. No small portion, or "piece" could satisfy. Clary wanted the whole thing, and nothing but that would ever be enough.

.o.O.o.

Isabelle stalked ahead, her hair flowing out behind her in a mass of inky strands. Jace couldn't hold back the chuckle building in his throat as he watched her strut in front of him. She would look, to anyone who didn't know her, to be a formidable girl, her stride confident, her stare menacing. Many men had cowered when faced with her—for good reason. But Jace knew her better than that. She'd been present in his life since they were both children. Their parents always moved in the same circles, worked at the same place, had the same friends. It was inevitable that he, Isabelle and Alec would grow close—as close as siblings. Because of this, even when Isabelle pulled her dominant act with him, Jace didn't fear her.

"I wouldn't laugh if I were you," Isabelle called, not turning to face him.

"Oh, yeah?" Jace asked. "Why not?"

Isabelle stopped, and Jace almost ran into her back. She whipped around, grabbed his arm, and pulled him into a space between two of the buildings, pushing his back into the brick wall behind him.

"What the he—"

"You want to tell me what this is, Jace?" She shoved a large envelope into his chest, and looked up at him expectantly.

Jace glanced down briefly and then back up. "It's an envelope, Isabelle."

She rolled her eyes. "Just look inside, jackass."

He reached up and carefully plucked it from her hands. "What is this?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

Jace sighed and slipped his finger under the flap, opening the envelope. He reached inside, his fingers closing around a few stiff sheets. Pulling them out, he flipped them over and peered down. His brows rose and his mouth dropped open. "Where did you get these?"

"Wh—where did I get them? Really? _That's_ what you choose to ask?"

"Just answer the damn question, Isabelle! Where did you get these?" He held up the grainy, black and white photographs of himself and Clary. Some of just the two of them talking outside of their building, and others of his hands fisted into her hair and his mouth on hers.

"I found them outside our door when I left this morning."

"Was there a note?" Jace asked as calmly as possible, considering he felt anything but.

"No. It wasn't even addressed to anyone in particular."

Jace sucked in a breath and his throat tightened as he peered at the contents of the envelope. "Iz—"

"You promised, Jace. You _promised_," Isabelle interrupted, her voice shaking with anger. "You said you could handle this, that you wouldn't take things too far."

Carefully, Jace tucked the photographs back into the envelope, the paper crinkling under his fingers. He lifted a hand to his hair and leaned his head back onto the wall, the fake calm on the verge of cracking. "Who's seen these?"

Isabelle stared at him incredulously. "Is that all you have to say? 'Who saw these?'"

"For now, yes."

She shook her head and closed her eyes, blowing out an exasperated breath. "Me and Alec."

Jace bit his lip, laughed under his breath, and nodded. "Alec."

"Yes, Alec!" Isabelle's eyes widened. "What? You expected me not to tell him?" She moved forward and thrust her finger into his chest. "What the hell are you doing, Jace?"

Jace pushed her hand away and started to move forward. "It doesn't concern you, Isabelle."

She reached out and shoved him back into the wall. "It doesn't concern me? How—how can you say this doesn't concern me, or Alec even? Anything to do with the case concerns us."

"Well, this doesn't have to do with the case." He threw envelope down into a nearby puddle and crossed his arms over his chest.

Isabelle raised her brows. The air around her seemed to stop. "She _is_ the case!"

"No!" He leaned down, his nose nearly touching Isabelle's. "Valentine Morgenstern is the case. Clary is . . . she's . . ." Jace fumbled over his words and then stood back up straight, running his hands through his hair and lacing them behind his head. He knew Isabelle was right, Clary was the reason they were there. She may not have been the actual case, but she was part of it. The part they'd been assigned to use, to exploit. Letting out a frustrated growl, he kicked at a few loose pieces of garbage littering the space. Crouching down, he lowered his head and swiped his hands over his face. "Damn it. I don't know."

Isabelle knelt down next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Jesus, what the hell's gotten into you?" She paused and inhaled sharply as if she'd just realized something.

"What?" He looked up at her.

"You're falling for her."

He laughed and stood. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Isabelle got to her feet, her eyes still studying him with incredulity.

"And how the hell would you know that?"

"God, it's so obvious I can't believe I didn't see it sooner."

"This is ridiculous," Jace muttered.

Isabelle threw her hands up in annoyance. "For someone so intelligent you can really be dense sometimes." She placed her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. "Are you really trying to tell me that you don't feel something for this girl?"

He shook his head and looked away, a strange heaviness pressing on his chest.

Isabelle lifted her hands and started ticking off points on her fingers. "You treat her better than I've ever seen you treat anyone. You act like a protective ass all the time. You volunteer to hang out with her when she's frightened. You get all worked up and hostile when there's even the slightest hint of danger towards her. You've completely stopped dating. And now," she gestured to the wet envelope lying in the middle of the puddle, "you're apparently kissing her—and God knows what else. Tell me how else I'm supposed to interpret that?"

Jace shrugged. "I don't much care how you interpret it."

"Come on, Jace."

"What?" He lifted his hands and let them drop to his thighs with a smack. "'Come on', what? I don't know what you want me to say."

Isabelle moved forward and reached out for him, her expression softening. He flinched away. She lowered her hand slowly. "It's okay, all right? It happens sometimes to agents with their subjects. It's okay if you have feelings for her—"

"No! It's not!" Jace snapped, his entire body vibrating with all the pent-up frustration and confusion. "It's not okay. Not for me. I—I don't feel things, Isabelle. That's why I'm so good at what I do. That's why they picked me to do this job. They knew I could go in and charm her into trusting me," he rambled. "They knew I could get the job done and leave it without a care." He took in a shaking breath. "That's why it had to be me . . . because I don't _feel_."

"That's not why they chose you."

"Yes, it is, Izzy. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it."

"You're good at your job, Jace. And I know _you_ know that."

He nodded. "I do know that. But that's still not why they picked me to do this particular job."

Isabelle sighed and leaned against the wall next to Jace. "You know, if this gets back to Hodge he'll have to tell your mother. And she'll remove you from the program. We don't get the same leniency as full Agents, Jace."

Jace closed his eyes and pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I know."

"You need to get a hold on this. You need to fix it before it gets out of hand."

Jace looked up into the gray sky and a couple of cool drops fell onto his face from above. He laughed without humor. "Well, it's probably a little too late for that now."

Isabelle tilted her head and gazed up at him. "Is it?" she asked quietly, the insinuation thick in her voice.

Jace closed his eyes and drew in a breath, exhaling slowly. "Yeah, I think it is."

.o.O.o.

The pencil moved in smooth, fluid lines, each curve perfectly embedding the image into the crisp sheet of paper. Clary ran her fingers over the drawing, shading and blending with every stroke. Setting her pencil down, she glanced at the paper and closed her eyes, laughing at herself. The only thing she'd seemed to be able to draw all day was Jace. His eyes, his lips, his hands—any part of him that entered her mind. She just couldn't stop herself from thinking about him, no matter what she did to try to occupy herself.

Throwing her sketchpad aside, Clary sank down into the pillows on her bed. She lifted her hand and clutched a chunk of her hair, letting out a slow breath. Her eyes moved to the window, focusing on the pale yellow moonlight cascading through the open shade. Finally, the rain had dissipated, leaving a clear night sky—well, as clear as it could be in the middle of the city.

Clary heaved herself off the bed and lowered her feet to the floor, intent on going over to the window, but tripped over her bag on the way there. She managed to catch herself from falling on her face, but the contents spilled all over the carpet.

"Damn," she muttered as she knelt down to gather her belongings, shoveling the old receipts, feminine products, and change back into the bag. When she noticed the envelopes she'd taken from her school mailbox that morning, she paused and picked them up. One was just her outstanding bill for the first semester classes, but the other looked like a card. She furrowed her brows and flipped it over, smiling immediately when she read the name in the top left corner. _Luke_.

Ripping it open, she pulled out the belated birthday wish. She couldn't keep the grin from her lips as she read his words. It had been a while since she'd visited with him. She'd have to make it a point to go out to the country and see him soon. He'd always been one of her favorite people in the world, and his place was where some of her most precious memories were formed. Clary closed her eyes and hugged the card to her chest, reveling in the good feelings it gave her to remember.

For a moment, she wondered why he'd sent the card to her school box, but then remembered she hadn't given him her new address. Making a mental note to fix that, Clary shoved the card back into the envelope and moved to her night stand to place it in the drawer. When she slid it open, she paused when her gaze fell on the slip of paper she'd found in her locket. She picked up the strip and carefully unfolded it with unsteady fingers. The jumbled mix of letters and numbers stared out at her once more. Furrowing her brow, a strange realization pinged in her mind. To anyone else, they made absolutely no sense. And to her, they hadn't at first either. But now . . . now she saw something. Something she hadn't noticed before. The totally random string seemed not so random anymore as her eyes drew the parallels.

"Oh my God!" she exclaimed, her heart thrumming in her chest. A spike of excitement coursed through her as she threw on her shoes and grabbed her hoodie, pushing her arms hastily through the sleeves. She needed to see Jace, needed to show him what she'd discovered. Rushing out of her room, she hurried through the living room and made her way to the front door.

Simon whipped around on the couch. "Where are you going?"

"Upstairs. I, uh, need to talk to Jace." She yanked open the door and stepped out into the hall.

"But—"

"I'll be back in a bit," she called, interrupting Simon's questions and slamming the door behind her.

Clary took the stairs two or three at a time—as fast as her stiff ankle and short legs would carry her. She was out of breath and panting by the time she reached his door. Lifting her fist, she pounded on it furiously, knowing he would probably think she was a lunatic by the intensity of it. After a moment, the door opened, a surprised Alec looking out at her.

"Clary, what—"

"Can I see Jace?" She struggled to get the words out through her ragged breathing. A cramp had started in her side and she clutched it with her hand.

"Uh, he's not here. Well, not exactly. He's up on the roof." Alec's blue eyes studied her carefully.

"Okay, thanks!" she called over her shoulder as she ran toward the rooftop access stairs.

After nearly tripping over her own feet three different times, she burst through the roof doors. The moon sat full and bright in the sky, its rays illuminating the stark darkness. Clary scanned the vicinity, looking for Jace's blond head. Finally, she spotted him, in the far corner of the roof, leaning on his elbows against the three-quarter wall surrounding the edge. She sucked in a slow breath and started toward him. He didn't seem to notice her, his eyes fixed on the city below. A light breeze moved through the area, lifting his hair and ruffling the curls away from his head. Something about the way he looked made Clary's chest clench. He seemed . . . contemplative and almost . . . sad.

"Jace?" she said as she drew closer.

He turned toward her, the small crease between his brows disappearing momentarily when his eyes met hers. "Clary? What are you doing up here?"

A stronger gust of wind curled around her and she shivered against it. "I was looking for you." She moved closer, pausing a foot away from him.

"Well, you found me." He turned away. An unsettling chill slithered up her spine. "Did you need something?"

Clary swallowed against the unease crowding her throat. Why was he acting so distant? Was he going to push her away now? She'd known this was a possibility before anything had happened between them the night before. She'd just foolishly hoped he'd surprise her. "No, I don't need anything. I just, well, I think I figured something out. And I wanted to tell you."

He looked at her, one brow raised, the wind causing a pair of curls to fall over his forehead. "Figured something out about what?"

Clary handed him the strip of paper containing the numbers and letters. He took it and looked at her expectantly. "You know what this means?"

She shook her head. "Not all of it." Stepping forward, she covered the first portion and the last portion with her fingers, leaving only the _2543NWSPRWLN78905 _visible_. _"Just this part." She paused. "I think it's an address."

Jace looked up at her, his eyes wide and mouth opened slightly.

Reaching into her hoodie pocket, Clary drew out the card she'd received from Luke and handed it to Jace. She pointed to the return address. "This address. 2543 North West Sparrow Lane, and then the zip code."

Jace let out a gust of breath. "Jesus. I think you're right. But what do these other letters and numbers mean?" he asked, mostly to himself.

Clary answered anyway. "I don't know. But it's a start right?"

"Yeah. It's a start. A really good start, Spitfire." He glanced up, a small smile on his lips.

Clary returned it only to watch his grin slowly slip from his face and the same strange sadness cloud his eyes.

"I think maybe it's time to pay him a little visit," Jace said.

"Do you think he could tell us what the rest of this means?"

Jace shrugged and returned to staring out at the city. "It wouldn't hurt to ask."

Clary studied the hard lines of his face for several moments. "Are you all right?" she asked carefully, trying her hardest not to make him shut her out further.

"Yeah," he said, but his voice was flat, distant.

Clary nodded once, knowing his words weren't the truth, but also knowing if he didn't want to share, he wouldn't. Instead of pushing, she moved up next to him, and peered down at the city. The lights looked so small and insignificant when viewing them from above. Still, there was a certain comfort to the chaos swarming below.

After several minutes of silence, Clary heard Jace sigh and then speak quietly. "I don't know how to do this."

Clary turned toward him in surprise, and saw he was leaning with his arms braced against the wall and his head bowed. "What?"

He raised his head and met her eyes, his own filled with confusion. "This. Us."

"Us?" Clary asked, her throat constricting around the word.

Jace closed his eyes and stepped away from the wall long enough to turn and press his back against it. "Everything I said to you last night was the truth. I've never seen myself as the type of person that could be anything other than what I was. That I could want anything other than what I'd had. I couldn't see past the superficial, the instant gratification. But, now . . ." He sucked in a breath and raised his hands to his hair then let them drop to his sides.

Clary felt her heart thud against her ribs, and her hands start to shake at her sides. "Now, what?" she whispered.

Jace turned to her. "Now . . ." He reached out uncertainly and moved a few wayward curls away from her face, his fingers lingering at her temples. She could feel them trembling a little against her skin. "Now, I see you."

Clary swallowed hard and clenched her fists at her sides.

Jace hesitated and then shifted, bringing his other hand up to her face and holding it between his palms. His eyes swept over her, like he couldn't get enough and was drinking in every facet of her. "I see you," he whispered. "And I can't see anything else."

Clary wrapped her unsteady fingers around his wrists. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

He dropped his hands, lowered his head, and gave a pained chuckle. "Isn't it?"

She shook her head. "Not to me."

Jace didn't respond, so Clary reached over and slipped her fingers under the hair hanging over his forehead. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

"Jace?" she said.

Finally, he looked up, and their gazes locked. Clary's eyes moved from one of his to the other, and she let her hand cup his cheek, the day old stubble rough against her skin. She watched the different emotions flicker through his eyes: pain, fear, sadness, resolution, and finally, hope. With every ounce of courage she could muster, she said the words she'd been dying to say, and the ones she knew he needed to hear. The ones that would let him know exactly how she felt, without really saying anything at all.

"I see you too."

* * *

_I'm fully aware that this chapter will probably incite mixed feelings in some readers. Some expected Jace to go all douche and push Clary away. Some will be happy he didn't. Some won't understand why he seems so confused. Some will wish he _had_ been a douche. I know I can't win with every reader, so I'm playing this story and his character development out the way I have envisioned it from the beginning. I assure you, Jace still has his douche tendencies (Hello . . . Spanish torture?). But he has this whole other vulnerable/sweet side (just like original Jace from TMI) as well. I'm going to let you see both. I hope you'll enjoy. _

_P.S. He's still an ass . . . you'll see that too. Just maybe not so much to Spitfire—or maybe he will, who knows. ;)_

_As always, big thanks and tons of *smooches* to my beta, LLWB. Love you._

_Ok, so, I'm going to enable anonymous reviews for those that don't have an account or that are too lazy to log in to theirs. :P But be forewarned, the first time someone uses the feature to flame or be rude, it'll be off again. I'm trusting people to be tactful._

_XOXOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	13. Reality Check

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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12. Reality Check

_Chapter Songs:_

_**If You Could Only See – Tonic _

_**Complicated – Avril Lavigne_

_**Under My Skin – Trading Yesterday _

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A loud bang split the air as Jace compressed the trigger, the bullet flying out of the gun and hitting the target dead on. Third one in a row. He steadied his stance, tightened his grip, and let off a few more shots, all landing within range. His smirk grew as he pulled off the protectors from his ears and sauntered forward to remove his target.

It felt good to go back to what he knew and where he was comfortable, since nothing else in his life seemed to make sense anymore. Everything he'd ever thought about the kind of person he was, and where he was going, had changed in an instant. An instant that began with an argument in the rain, and ended with a confession on a rooftop.

But the feel of the weapon in his hand, the smell of gunpowder and oil, and the sting that radiated up his arm after a shot, made him feel like himself again. Like the person he'd always been. The one whose skin he was comfortable living in.

Jace reached out and grasped the paper, pulling it away easily with a distinct tear. Turning around, he spotted a figure standing in the spot he'd just vacated. "Come to learn a few things, I see."

Alec scowled. "No. Came for an explanation, actually. Nice of you to bolt before I even got up this morning. Real mature, Jace."

"An explanation about what?"

"About those pictures and about why Clary was in such a hurry to see you last night."

A frown took the place of Jace's satisfied smile. "I'm really not in the mood to talk about this right now," he said as he made his way back, folding the target and placing it on the small ledge next to his firearm.

Alec crossed his arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. "When do you think you might be in the mood to discuss it then?"

Jace bent over to collect his bag, sticking the paper inside and holstering his gun. "How about never? Does that sound good to you?"

"Come on, Jace. Stop being such a child about this."

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't want to talk about it before you get it?"

Jace pushed by Alec and exited the shooting gallery, depositing his gun in the weapon's room located just outside. The hallway was empty as they made their way out. Each door along the way remained closed, the lights turned off. Only the sound of their echoed footsteps gave any indication that anyone was in the building at all. At the end of the hall, Jace thrust open the heavy door to the locker room and stepped over the threshold. The smell of sweat intermingled with bleach and air freshener hung heavy in the air.

He shoved his bag into his assigned locker and sat on the wooden bench in front of it to change into his sparring clothes. Alec was already dressed to go. He, apparently, felt his shot was good enough that he didn't need to participate in that morning's scheduled shooting practice. Jace would beg to differ, but he really wasn't in the mood to get into it. His mind was too full after his talk with Clary on the rooftop. The things he'd said, the things he'd confessed . . .

Alec lowered himself to the bench beside Jace. "Look, you can't just ignore this. What if whoever left those photos sends some here? How are you going to explain them?"

"That would present an even bigger problem than my love life, wouldn't you say?"

"How can you be so indifferent about all this?"

"Is that how I seem to you?" Jace asked. "I'm a better actor than I thought." He quickly discarded his shirt and jeans, replacing them with the standard-issue gear everyone wore for training. Once finished, he stashed his clothes with his bag and stood to exit the room.

Alec followed. "I don't really know what's going on with you and Clary, Jace. It just—it worries me."

"What are you worried about? It's my ass on the line, not yours."

Alec sighed. "But you're my partner—and my friend. I just—"

Jace turned to Alec abruptly. "Are we having a moment?"

"What?"

"You know," Jace started walking again, "one of those times where we share our feelings and then have a pillow fight and paint our nails afterward?"

Alec rolled his eyes. "Of course. How could I have forgotten? You can't take anything seriously."

"I am taking this seriously, Alec. Really. More than you know." Jace turned and entered the sparring room, the mat soft and giving under his feet. He couldn't wait to start fighting and work out some of the frustration he felt. "But I don't need to drag you and Isabelle into my mess, all right? The less you know, the safer you are if this blows up in my face."

"It _is_ going to blow up in your face." Alec stood right across from Jace, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, legs spread a foot apart. He may not have looked it, but Alec was a worthy opponent. His quiet, unassuming nature masked the true fighter he really was. "There's no stopping that. When Clary finds out . . ."

"You think I don't know this, Alec? You think I don't understand just how messed up this whole situation is?" Jace stretched his arm across his body, holding it and feeling the burn of his muscles loosening. He repeated with the other arm and rolled his shoulders. "Because, believe me, no one is more aware of that fact than me. There just isn't anything I can do about it."

The inevitability of the whole situation was all Jace could think about. He knew at some point everything would come crashing down around him. The only uncertainty was Clary's reaction to it. Would she understand? Or would she think everything between them had been fake, a setup just to gain information?

"Are you kidding me?" Alec's eyes grew wide. "Just stop."

"I can't."

"What do you mean 'I can't?' Why not?"

Jace looked up and met Alec's gaze, trying to hide the swell of feeling rising up inside him. There was no way he could admit to the reasons "why not." Not to Alec, not to anyone. "I just can't, all right? Now," he jumped up and down a few times in his spot and wiggled his fingers at Alec, needing the distraction sparring would give, "your ass beating awaits. No need to postpone the inevitable."

"I take it that means you're done talking now?"

Jace shook his head. "I never started, Alec."

Alec rolled his eyes and started to say something when the door to the room opened. Jace glanced over, spotting a young female Agent he didn't know.

"Agents. Mr. Starkweather needs to see you in his office."

Jace dropped his hands and stood up straight. "What? Now? We're in the middle of training." He gestured to Alec and himself.

"Sorry, he said now." The Agent turned on her heel and exited the room.

Jace peered over at Alec, his brow furrowed. "What the hell is that all about? Hodge never interrupts a training session."

Alec's face had turned ash gray. "I have no idea. But you'd better hope for your sake it has nothing to do with things that you refuse to discuss."

"It doesn't." Jace heard the confidence in his own voice, solidifying his belief that he was a very good actor, indeed. Now, he just hoped his skill would stay intact in front of Hodge.

.o.O.o.

Jace leaned against the back of the elevator, his hands gripping the bar behind him, hard. Light rock still played quietly from the overhead speakers, and Jace hummed along with it. Alec stared at him, his face so pale Jace feared he may upchuck on his shoes.

"You'd better not throw up on me," he said, and then continued his quiet humming.

Alec gaped at him, his throat moving visibly as he swallowed. "Why aren't you more nervous?"

"Because I don't think there's any reason to be." Jace glanced up at the security cameras, wondering if they had audio capabilities as well as video.

Alec's eyes followed his gaze, and widened in realization. "I hope you're right," he mumbled as the doors slid open, revealing the waiting area to Hodge's office.

Amatis looked up from her work, smiling instantly when she saw them. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me, boys."

"Are you kidding?" Jace strode up to her and kissed her cheek. "I could never forget about you, _mio dolce_."

Amatis' face flushed. "Always with the sweet talk. That's going to get you into trouble someday."

Jace grinned. "I like being in trouble, _dolcezza_."

"Stop making an old woman blush and get your behinds in there." Amatis shooed them with a flick of her wrist. "Isabelle is already inside."

With one last smile at Amatis, Jace turned toward the door, anxiety swirling on the inside, but only cool, indifference showing on the outside. Alec followed closely, rapping on the thick wooden entrance when they approached. A muffled, "Come in," sounded from the other side. Jace twisted the knob and he and Alec entered the office. His eyes fell immediately on Isabelle, sitting straight backed, her face paler than he'd ever seen it, and in the chair next to her, Maryse Lightwood.

Jace swallowed hard and moved into the room, closing the door behind him. A visit from the Director. Suddenly, his confidence about the meeting plummeted. This couldn't be good.

"Have a seat." Hodge gestured to the two open chairs next to Isabelle before lacing his fingers together and lowering his hands to his lap. "There have been some issues with the case that have come to our attention." He glanced in Director Lightwood's direction and she nodded. "I think I'll let the Director fill you in."

Jace felt a squeezing in his gut when he watched the woman stand. He'd always been somewhat unsettled by Maryse Lightwood. Not because she was actually intimidating, but because he respected her in so many ways. Admiration was not a feeling Jace allowed easily. Maryse was a strong, beautiful, successful woman, and an excellent mother to her three children. Jace's own mother only had him and she couldn't even be bothered to pick up the phone and call him unless it was to scold him about something. Maryse kept in constant contact with her children and made sure they knew she cared—even though she was not the most affectionate woman in the world. When Jace would come to the Lightwood's home as a child, she'd always treated him like one of her own, not like he was just some brat his parents couldn't be bothered with at the moment. He'd always respected that about her.

Maryse cleared her throat and clasped her hands in front of her. She leaned back and perched on the edge of Hodge's desk, her eyes intent on Jace, Isabelle, and Alec. "As Mr. Starkweather has stated, we have been made aware of some disturbing developments on this case. Developments you have not seen fit to tell us about."

Jace kept his face expressionless, but saw Isabelle fidget out of the corner of his eye. He wanted to reach out and hold her still.

Director Lightwood's eyes locked on his, and Jace could see the accusation in them. "Is there something you'd like to tell us, Agent Herondale?"

Jace felt the heat drain from his face. She couldn't know. Even if she'd seen those pictures, she couldn't know anything more than that. Kissing Clary was not necessarily against the rules—maybe "frowned upon," but nothing that would warrant a meeting such as this. What happened afterward, well, that was a different story. But no one knew about that except him and her. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She sighed and pushed herself away from the desk, gathering a file folder from the corner and shuffling through it. Jace's hands tightened into fists, and Isabelle snuck a worried peek at him. He shook his head minutely and she looked away, getting his message to play it cool.

With her face angled down, Director Lightwood searched the documents. "It says here that our analysis department did a cell phone check for you a few weeks ago." She glanced up. "Is that true?"

Relief flooded Jace's body, his heart slowing to a more normal rhythm. "Yes."

"What was the reason for this report?"

Jace opened his mouth, but it was Isabelle who spoke. "Cl—Miss Morgenstern received a few strange and slightly threatening text messages. We wanted to check to see if it was from a recent ex or if it was something we should be worried about."

"And?"

"And," Isabelle continued, "It came back as a disposable cell phone."

Maryse frowned. "Could it be one of her father's clients, I wonder? Word is Valentine Morgenstern is under investigation by some new client to the firm."

Alec answered with a shrug. "We don't know. Nothing is pointing in that direction, or away from it. We need more to go on before we can look at anyone in particular."

Jace kept his mouth closed about the new information Clary had discovered about the address. He wanted to take a look before presenting what he had to the Agency. It could be nothing, after all.

"And this is all? A few text messages?"

Isabelle grimaced noticeable. Jace shot her a look and Maryse turned her attention to Isabelle. "Do you have something to say?"

"Well," her eyes searched Jace's and he had to try hard not to convey any of his thoughts, "we believe whoever this is, is stalking Clary. We had a break-in at the house and then she was attacked at the club she works at."

"And you don't think this is the old boyfriend?" Maryse asked.

"We haven't ruled that out," Alec answered. "There are a lot of possibilities of who this could be."

"And you didn't think to notify the Agency? We could have given you more backup, or resources, at least."

"We didn't want to scare them off," Jace finally spoke up. "We thought whomever it was would notice something was up if we changed anything. Plus, we aren't even sure this has anything to do with the case. We wanted that assurance before we involved the Agency."

"Is that your call to make, Agent?" Maryse narrowed her eyes in Jace's direction.

Jace felt indignation boiling up in his chest. He took in a deep breath, trying to hold it down. "With all due respect, Ma'am, yes, I think it is." She balked, but he continued regardless. "You put us on this case because you felt we were the most capable, the best choice in this situation. Do you no longer think that we are?"

"Of course we do, that isn't the point."

"It is the point." Jace paused. "Of course we'll report to you when we have evidence to give. But because we don't know where this threat is coming from, we can't be sure it has anything to do with the case. Do you really want us running to you with every little thing?"

Maryse raised her hand and tucked a loose piece of dark hair up into her bun. "Of course not."

Jace exhaled a silent sigh of relief. "Then, please, trust us to do our job. We will inform the Agency when we have information it needs to be aware of. As of right now, this seems to be unrelated."

"Point taken, Agent." Director Lightwood cleared her throat. "As for the job at hand, do you feel you all are in a good position to start the next phase of your assignment?"

"The 'next phase?'" Alec asked, his eyebrows disappearing underneath his hair.

"Yes, information retrieval. We need to move forward on this. People higher up are getting anxious to put this whole case to rest."

"I don't know, Mo—uh, Director," Isabelle said. "It's only been a few weeks."

"None of you have managed to secure a solid foundation with the girl yet?" Maryse studied each of them with scrutiny. "That is unacceptable."

"Well," Alec said, his voice small and his eyes wandering over to Jace. "She seems to be a bit, uh, 'taken' with Jace."

Jace rolled his eyes. Maryse's fell on him, a new pleased light to them. "Good," she said, a small smile picking at the corners of her mouth. "That's exactly what we'd hoped would happen."

Jace frowned, feeling more than a little pimped out at the moment. At least Alec hadn't let on to the fact of Jace's own confused feelings for Clary. The Agency certainly wouldn't approve of that.

The Director's gaze locked with his. "Well, it looks as though this is in your hands, now, Agent Herondale. Use the girl's interest in you to get access to her father."

A sickening feeling curled in Jace's gut at the thought. He knew this was his job, what he'd been sent to do. He knew he was stuck. But that didn't make doing what he had to do any easier. "Her name isn't 'the girl,' it's Clary, and this isn't going to be as easy as you think. She's not close to her father. In fact, she pretty much avoids any contact with him or her brother."

Maryse didn't release Jace's stare. "Then figure out a way to make her, Agent. This whole case rides on you now."

.o.O.o.

"Oooh! Brownies!" Simon said, dipping his finger into the mixing bowl and scooping out a large glop of batter.

Clary turned from the sink and slapped his wrist. "No! Don't touch. You could get salmonella or something." She wiped her hands off on a towel and flung it over her shoulder.

"But it's _so_ good," he whined, his eyes large and lips pouty. "Please? Just a little lick?"

"You're worse than a child, I swear." She glared at him for a moment before surrendering. "Fine. But if you get sick, don't expect me to hold your hair for you."

Simon pumped his fist in the air. "Yes!" Leaning over, he pecked Clary on the cheek, swiped another big dollop from the bowl, and stuck his finger in his mouth. "Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah." Clary narrowed her eyes at him. "I really need to learn to resist your puppy dog eyes. They'll be the death of me."

Simon snorted and stole another lick before Clary snapped his butt with the towel and shooed him out of the kitchen.

With a sigh, Clary turned back to the mess on the counter and finished pouring the brownie mix into the backing pan. After she'd put it into the oven and set the timer, she went about cleaning up after herself. In the middle of wiping down the corner, her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. Clary groaned and picked into her jeans with only two fingers, trying not to get brownie mix on her phone. Once she had it out, she pressed the talk button and held it up to her ear.

"Hello?" she said as she washed and dried her hands quickly.

"Hey kiddo," a voice said on the other end.

A large smile broke over Clary's face. "Luke?"

"Yeah, it's been way too long. How are you?"

"I'm great! To what do I owe the pleasure?" Clary hiked herself up to sit on the counter, her feet dangling high off the ground.

"Well, I'm returning your call."

"Oh, right!" Clary slapped her forehead. "I totally forgot I called. There was something I wanted to ask you."

"You can call anytime, Clary. You know that. You don't need a reason." His voice was soft, gentle, like always. Clary's chest tightened as she realized just how much she'd missed him.

"I know. And I'm going to call more often. I've let myself become too preoccupied."

Luke chuckled. "You're a college kid. You're supposed to be preoccupied."

"It's no excuse." Clary picked at the frayed hole in the knee of her jeans, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. "I—I found something of Mom's the other day."

The other end of the line was silent.

Clary closed her eyes and took in a breath. "I need to talk to you about it, but I'd like to do it in person." She paused. "I was thinking maybe I could come see you—whenever you're free."

Only static registered from Luke's end.

"Luke?" Clary asked.

"I'm here," he said quietly.

"Would—would that be okay?"

"Sure," he said, his tone guarded. "I'm free this weekend."

A relieved breath whooshed from Clary's lungs. "That would be great—if you're sure."

"Yes, I'm sure." His voice was warm again. "It gets lonely out here by myself, anyway."

"I could bring some friends. Liven the place up a bit."

Luke laughed. "Sounds like a plan. So, I'll see you this weekend?"

"Yeah. This weekend."

"Good, I look forward to it." Clary could hear the smile in his voice. "Listen, I only had a few minutes to talk, but I wanted to make sure I got back to you in a decent amount of time. We'll talk more this weekend, all right?"

"Yeah, me too. Okay, then. Bye, Luke."

"Bye, Clary."

Clary closed her eyes and lowered the phone from her ear, pressing the end button. As happy as she was to hear from Luke, she couldn't help the icy pang in her chest. Just the sound of his voice made her miss her mother. He'd always been a big part of her mother's life—her best friend—like Simon was to her. Jocelyn and Clary spent so much time out at his farm house, just relaxing and spending time together. They were some of the best moments of Clary's life. She'd never thought about the fact that it was just her and her mother back then, never wondered why her father and Jonathan never joined them. She'd have to ask one day.

Peering out into the living room, Clary spied Simon's dark head. He sat on the couch, hunched over, his eyes glued to whatever game he was playing at the moment.

Suddenly, she had the indescribable urge to go hug him. He'd always been her one constant. Always there no matter the circumstance, whether it was good or bad. Hopping down from the counter, Clary tossed the towel onto the table and walked into the living room. When she reached Simon, she took the controller from his hands and threw it to the cushion beside him.

"Hey," Simon said and whipped his head up to look at Clary. His dark eyes were wide and a little angry. "Why'd you do that?"

Without answering, Clary grabbed his hands and spread them wide. She climbed into his lap, sitting sideways across his legs with hers stretching over his thighs. He looked at her in confused surprise, but wrapped his arms around her regardless. Clary hugged him around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. She remembered a long time ago when they'd been pretty much the same size. Simon had always been a geeky, scrawny kid, but in the past few years he'd really shot up in height and filled out nicely. Though, to her, he'd forever be the lovable dork he'd always been. "I love you, you know?"

"I know," he said, laying his cheek on her head. "I love you too."

Clary closed her eyes and squeezed him tighter. She couldn't remember a time when Simon hadn't been around. All the way through school they'd been pretty much inseparable. It seemed strange to many people that they'd never hooked up—not that they hadn't considered it a few years back. But that "spark" was just never there. She did love him and knew he loved her in return; it was just always platonic—not at all like what she felt with Jace. There was none of that heat, none of the undeniable attraction and need. She and Simon were, and always would be, just friends, and both of them were okay with that. Even so, she didn't know if she could live a single day without him in her life. He was her rock, her comfort, her home. Clary had thought no one could even come close to him in those regards. But now, she wasn't so sure. Jace stirred things in her she never knew she could feel before. It was quite unsettling and slightly annoying. She didn't like being so out of control, and that's how he made her feel—out of control. Wild. Lost.

"Not that I'm complaining about the love you're showing me or anything," Simon's voice interrupted her thoughts, "but what's this all about? Did you have some freaky premonition of my death or something? That's it, isn't it? I'm going to die?"

Clary sighed and sat up, all her fuzzy thoughts washing away as she glared at him. "I'm having an emo girl moment. Can't I just hug you without an interrogation?"

Simon had just started to speak when the doorbell rang. Clary huffed and heaved herself off from him, making her way to the door. The bell rang again.

"I'm coming," she shouted. "God, impatient much?" Peeking through the peep-hole, she groaned. "Great."

Clary twisted the deadbolt and reached up to remove the chain. Slowly, she pulled open the door and leaned her shoulder against the jam. Jonathan, dressed in a suit and long black trench coat, stood in the opening. His white-blond hair was combed neatly to the side, accentuating his dark eyes. He glanced up at her under very long, blond lashes, his hands clasped in front of him. His stiff demeanor made Clary feel like he was there for a business meeting.

"Jonathan."

"Clary." He shifted slightly on his feet. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"That depends on why you're here." Clary hesitated and opened the door further.

Jonathan breezed past her. Clary sighed and closed the door, following him into the living room. There was a time when things weren't so stressed between them. They may have never been particularly close—they were too different for that—but they did, at least, get along. The major change came after their mother's death.

Since then, Jonathan had thrown himself into his work. It had become his life. He no longer went out with friends. He quit dating. Clary figured it was his way of coping. She painted, he worked. It made sense. But the more time that passed, the more he became like their father. Obsessed. Cold. Distant. It made Clary sad to see him that way.

Jocelyn had been like the sun in their family. Always bright and understanding. Always filling their lives with color and vitality. When she died, it was like the sun disappeared, leaving them all floundering at the edge of a never-ending eclipse. Her father fell even deeper into the black hole he'd been circling for years, and Jonathan followed right behind him. Only Clary had managed to find her way out. But she attributed that to her being more like Jocelyn than her brother. Jonathan had always tended to take after their father anyway. But he wasn't completely without any of their mother in him. He had the ability for compassion, for creativity. He just chose to ignore it.

"This is . . . nice." Jonathan looked around the small apartment, his nostrils flared and lips pursed like he'd smelled something bad.

Clary rolled her eyes and gestured for him to follow her into the kitchen. Simon was so engrossed in his game he didn't even notice they had company. Once there, Clary pulled out a chair and plopped into it, crossing her legs underneath her. Jonathan eyed the chair closest to himself and finally sat, his body stiff.

Clary leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Relax, all right? Dad's not here. You don't have to be all proper for me."

For a second, his shoulders dropped and then he tightened them even further. "There's nothing wrong with good posture." He gestured to her slouched over figure. "You should consider it once and awhile."

"Why are you here, Jonathan? I can't believe you'd come all this way just to insult me."

He sighed and reached up to rub his forehead. "No, sorry. I'm just a little stressed. This investigation . . ." Jonathan's voice trailed off. "I came to give you the formal invitation to the company ball." He reached into his left pocket and pulled out a navy blue envelope trimmed in metallic silver.

Clary took it and met his eyes. "That time of year again, huh?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I suppose."

"And _I_ suppose this isn't optional?"

Jonathan looked at her sideways. "You know how important it is to Father for us to show a good face there. It's the one time a year when all of our clients are together."

And the one time of year Valentine actually pretended to like Clary.

"I know, I know," Clary said, waving away his words. "It was always Mom's favorite time of year. She loved that ball. Of course, I'll be there."

Jonathan looked down at the table, his finger moving along the patterns in the wood. Clary noticed the lines that formed in his forehead at the mention of their mother. With a pang of empathy, she reached out and laid her hand on top of his. He looked up at her, a sliver of grief evident in his eyes. Clary squeezed his fingers gently, and thought maybe she'd found a tiny piece of the old Jonathan still alive in there, until the front door opened and Isabelle called out.

Jonathan snatched his hand away and stood abruptly, the chair almost tumbling to the ground behind him. Clary rose to her feet as well. Jonathan reached up and ran his fingers through his hair before meeting her eyes once more, the glimmer of warmth gone and replaced by only coldness.

"Make sure you R.S.V.P with the number in your party," he said formally. "Feel free to bring a friend or two. Oh, and don't forget about dinner at the condo beforehand."

"I will. Thanks," she said, feeling the loss of her brother all over again.

"I should be getting back then." Jonathan smoothed his hands over his coat. "Father and I have a business dinner tonight."

"Yeah, all right. Thanks for the invite—though, you could have mailed it."

Jonathan shook his head. "Father wanted them all hand-delivered this year." He paused. "I—I volunteered to bring yours. I thought it would be better received if it was personal."

Clary felt a lump form in her throat. She knew her brother was in there somewhere. She just wished she could find him. "Thank you," she said, her voice quiet.

They stood in awkward silence for a few seconds before Isabelle bounded into the kitchen, carrying two overflowing paper bags of groceries and followed by Alec and Jace. Clary's heart did a little jump when she saw Jace. Isabelle stopped abruptly and Alec ran into her back when she spied Jonathan. Jace's eyes widened and then narrowed.

Jonathan nodded to the others and walked swiftly down the hall. Clary gave them a fleeting look and rushed after him, catching him just as he opened the door. "Jonathan—"

He turned to her, his gaze conflicted.

"You know you're welcome to come visit anytime, all right?"

A small grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Thanks, Clare."

Clary's chest clenched at his old nickname for her. He hadn't used it for years.

With a stiff nod, he turned and made his way down the hall. Clary watched until he disappeared around the corner and down the stairs. She let out a slow breath and closed the door, resting her forehead against it.

"Everything all right?" Isabelle's concerned voice came from behind her.

Clary whipped around to find four pairs of curious eyes on her. Apparently, Simon had decided this was more interesting than his game. Clary shook her head. "Yeah, of course." She moved down the hall and squeezed between them just as the buzzer went off in the kitchen. Hurrying into the room, Clary grabbed a pot holder and opened the oven, removing the brownies and setting them on top of the stove. After turning the temperature to off, she faced the others. They all stared at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing." Isabelle said. "You just seem—shaken. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I'm perfectly fine." Clary felt Jace's gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. If she did, she knew her face would turn bright red and she wouldn't be able to look away. "He was just here to deliver an invite to the annual company ball. It was something my mom started." She shrugged. "No big deal."

"Ooh, you mean the big schmooze fest we go to every year?" Simon sauntered over and started picking at the edge of the brownies.

"Yeah." Clary slapped his hand. "Jesus, you're going to burn yourself!"

"Ow!" He snatched his hand back and glared at her.

"You know, you're all welcome to come—if you want." Clary returned to the previous topic.

"Is it like a real ball?" Isabelle asked, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Like, when you get all dressed up and drink fancy champagne and dance?"

"Pretty much." Clary heaved herself onto the counter and joined Simon in picking at the brownies. She didn't care if they were hot, she loved it when they were all gooey and practically melted in her mouth. "Honestly, it's pretty boring. I mean, my mom made my dad dedicate a specific portion of the firm for elaborate parties so it's nice and everything, but I'm not really in to rubbing elbows with my dad's clients." She shoved a chunk of brownie in her mouth, burning her tongue slightly and puffing her breath to stop the sting. "Simon makes it less boring. We usually spend most of the night wandering around the deserted halls and making fun of people's outfits."

"And don't forget how I'm the life of the party at your father's dinner beforehand." Simon grinned.

Clary returned his smile. "Of course. I'd never get through it without you."

"So," Jace finally spoke. Clary raised her gaze reluctantly to his, her stomach flipping when she met his eyes. "This is held at your father's firm?"

She nodded. "They have a ballroom in the building—don't ask. And the dinner is at his condo."

"Mmm," Jace said and looked down at the floor, but not before Clary caught him toss a glance at Alec. She wondered what that had been about.

Isabelle nearly squealed. "Oh my God. This means we get to go shopping!"

Clary laughed. "Sure. It's formal, after all."

Isabelle started ticking off all the things she needed to buy and continued talking to herself as she made her way into her room. Simon retreated into the living room, and Alec followed, apparently never having played Halo before, leaving only Jace still in the kitchen. He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

Clary felt heat travel from her chest to her face. They hadn't been alone together since that night on the roof, and things had been heavy between them at that moment. She still didn't know what to make of what was happening. Looking down, she broke off another piece of brownie and shoved it in her mouth to keep herself from saying anything stupid. Jace eyed her carefully. She swallowed and grabbed another piece, holding it out to him.

"Want some?"

A smirk played at the edges of Jace's mouth and he pushed away from the wall, making his way slowly over to her. Clary felt her heart thud harder in her chest the closer he came, his presence still affecting her the same as it always had. He stopped in front of her, his eyes moving from hers to the piece of brownie in her outstretched hand.

"It's good," Clary teased and waved it in front of him.

Jace smiled wider and leaned into her, placing his hands to either side of her legs on the counter. With his eyes intent on hers, he wrapped his lips around her outstretched fingers, sucking the piece into his mouth. Clary's breath caught in her throat as he released her. She watched him chew, his jaw flexing with each movement. Her fingers ached to touch him, and she wanted desperately to lick his mouth. Just once—maybe twice—possibly even three times. It felt like forever since she'd kissed him and she could hardly remember what he tasted like.

"Mmm. That is good, but I bet I know something better . . ." Jace moved his hands to her hips, his fingers hooking through the loops in her jeans, and pulled her to the edge of the counter, fitting himself between her legs. Clary's gaze fell to his mouth, and her breathing grew shallow as he came closer. She licked her lips in anticipation, sparks flying between them. Just as he was about to kiss her, Clary heard a throat clearing behind Jace. She let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and Jace dropped his head before turning toward the doorway.

Simon stood under the arch, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest. "If you two are _finished_, I was coming for more brownies."

"For your information," Jace said, "we were not finished. Come back later. Or preferably never."

"Hush, you two." Clary hopped down from the counter and gestured Simon into the room.

He scowled at Jace as he moved through the kitchen.

Clary frowned at Simon and cut him a big piece, handing it to him on a paper towel. "Anything else?"

Simon's gaze moved between her and Jace. "No. I think that's it." He didn't move.

Clary sighed and grabbed him by the shoulders, turning his reluctant body to the door and pushing him toward it. "Go."

"I'm going, I'm going," Simon said moodily as he exited the room, sending one last death-glare in Jace's direction.

Clary pushed out a gust of breath and twisted back around. Jace smirked at her from his place next to the counter. "You think that's funny?"

He shrugged. "A little. He's like a child."

"This is true," she said as she moved closer to him. "Now, where were we?"

Jace grinned and reached a hand around to the back of her neck, pulling her forward. Just when his lips had barely touched hers, Isabelle came flying into the room, babbling non-stop about shops they needed to visit and accessories they needed to buy.

"Oops, sorry," she said, pausing just inside the doorframe.

"Damn it," Jace muttered under his breath, his hand falling from Clary's neck. Clary sighed and raised her gaze to the ceiling, focusing on a water stain that had been there since they moved in.

"I just need this." Isabelle grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. "And now I'll . . . leave you to it." She gave Jace a strange look then retreated back out into the hall.

Clary closed her eyes and let out a slow breath.

Jace leaned down, his mouth next to her ear and his breath hot on her skin. His fingers drew up her forearm and left gooseflesh in their place. "You want to get out of here?"

"Jesus, I thought you'd never ask." She looked up, her face just inches from his and God did she want to kiss him, but knew if she tried, someone else would probably just interrupt again. "Any ideas?"

He smiled. "A few." Taking her hand, he pulled her out of the kitchen and into the front hall. Alec and Simon seemed engrossed in their game while a God-awful racket came from Isabelle's room. "There's something I want to show you."

"You've already shown me that."

Jace glanced at her, surprise, and if Clary wasn't mistaken, a little bit of pride glinted in his eyes. "Have you always been this naughty, Spitfire?"

"Why? Does it bother you?"

"Does it look like it does?"

Clary studied the smug grin on his lips and the brightness of the gold in his eyes. "Do you always answer questions with questions, Cass?"

"Do you?"

Clary shook her head, a large smile dominating her face as she grabbed her jacket and bag. "So, what is it you want to show me then . . . if it isn't _that_." She raised her brows.

Jace chuckled, then reached out and fixed the collar on her coat, his warm fingers brushing along the skin of her neck. Clary fought back a shiver. "That," he tapped her nose, "is for me to know, and for you to find out."

Clary narrowed her eyes, but couldn't hold back a grin. "You're a tease."

"At least you don't sound surprised about that," he said, grabbing her hand once more and leading her out the door.

Clary followed him down the stairs, out the front door, and around the corner to where he kept his bike. It was cold, but not frigid. Jace held the helmet out to her and threw his leg over the motorcycle. When she took it, he kicked the bike to a start. Clary shoved the helmet on her head and climbed on behind him, not hesitating to wrap her arms around his waist. His warmth flooded into her, burning away any chill that had begun from the cool weather.

"So, you're really not gonna tell me where we're going?" she said.

"Nope," Jace said, revving the engine. "All you need to know is that I'm taking you for a little ride."

"I love it when you take me for a ride," Clary said, more than a little suggestiveness to her tone.

Jace turned his face toward her, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, and a smirk pulling at his mouth. "I know you do, baby."

Before Clary could respond further, the bike shot forward and she fisted her hands into his jacket, a squeal of delight and a little bit of fear escaping her mouth. She felt the rumble of Jace's laughter under her arms as the bike moved faster. Buildings, lights, and pedestrians were reduced to just a blur. Clary realized it didn't really matter to her where they went. As long as she was with him, he could take her to Timbuktu and she'd be ecstatic.

After a while, the busyness of the city disappeared, and only open road stretched out before them. Jace twisted back on the gas and the bike took off, lurching into the night. Clary hugged herself to him tighter and closed her eyes, allowing the surrounding sensations to overtake her. The chilly wind whipped in her face and the motorcycle's engine purred beneath her. The smell of leather and Jace wafted through the air, intoxicating her further. The staccato rhythm of her heart pounded quickly in her chest as the pavement loomed long and promising before them. But the most important sensation, the one that held nearly all of Clary's attention, was the deliciously tone firmness of Jace under her fingers.

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Italian translations:

_mio dolce_ - my sweet.

_dolcezza_ - sweetness

_Until next time—_

_Thank you to my ever-awesome beta LLWB. You do such an amazing job catching my oopsies. *smooches*_

_Also, thank you to all the anonymous reviewers. I like to send personal thanks to everyone who reviews (except for those that only say 'UPDATE'—how can I say thanks for that?) and feel bad that I can't say it to you. So, thanks!_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_

_P.S. Ok, a friend and I were chatting and she admitted to going out and getting brownies after this chapter...hehe! So, I'm wondering...how many of you craved brownies after reading? Furthermore, how many of you actually ATE some? ;) FWIW, I'm gonna make some myself...  
_


	14. Free Falling

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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13. Free Falling

_~French translations provided by Niniadepapa (apparently, her mother teaches French so she's pretty fluent in that too. WTH, right? ;) Gracias (merci!), chica! ) Again, translations are provided in the text. Tacky? Yes. Do I care? Eh, not so much._

_Chapter Songs:_

_**She – Parachute (this was rec'd to me, but I can't find the name of the person who rec'd it.)_

_**She Will Be Loved – Maroon 5_

_**Timeless – Kate Havnevik [If you listen to no other song while reading, make sure to listen to this one…the last 1/3 of the chapter, starting when J/C go up the stairs. (Niniadepapa reminded me of the awesomeness of this song and without it, I could not have finished this chapter. So, thank you, Punky!)]_

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A methodic clink of a spoon hitting the sides of a ceramic cup echoed throughout the otherwise quiet café. The woman absently stirred her coffee, clockwise three times and then counterclockwise once. Never varying, the pattern always stayed the same. It was one of her nervous habits, something she always did when trying to keep her mind from the things she had to do. She'd only gotten the coffee because it was the cheapest thing on the menu, and she needed to buy something in order to stay at the diner.

The waitress returned constantly, asking if she needed a refill, to which the woman responded by narrowing her eyes and barking at the silly girl to go away. The girl scuttled back to the counter quickly, but not before she threw a dirty look over her shoulder. Like the woman cared. If Little Miss Thing wanted to know how it felt to get the stink eye, she could give her one that would burn her stomach for a month.

The woman turned her gaze back to the dust coated window, deciding that LMT wasn't worth the effort, and trained her eyes on the apartment building just across the street. It was a little older, but decent considering the neighborhood. She bet the rent was reasonable too. Sometimes one could find these hidden gems in the city. Unfortunately, she hadn't been so lucky. Her place was about the size of her thumbnail and had a rat problem in the basement. At least she had the luxury of staying at her boyfriend's most of the time. He was loaded, so his place was like a freaking palace compared to hers.

The bell over the door chimed and in walked a few guys. She could tell immediately that they were college kids due to their unkempt appearances and the university logo on one of their hats. They sat in the booth farthest from where the woman had parked herself and delved into some meaningless drivel about sports teams. She rolled her eyes and continued staring out into the streetlamp lit street. The dull yellow cones of light fanned over the sidewalk, brightening the path every ten feet or so. People passed underneath, oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. It always amazed her how clueless people were. She could sit there watching, waiting, and no one would be any the wiser.

Finally, she saw movement as the door to the apartment building opened. Out stumbled a couple, the boy, blond, and the girl, red-headed. The boy pulled her out onto the sidewalk and then around the side of the building into the alley. The smiles on their faces nearly stretched from ear-to-ear. A pang of jealousy shot through the woman as she remembered what it had been like when she and her boyfriend looked like that. It had been way too long.

After a few moments, a motorcycle pulled out from the dark passage and took off down the street.

The woman stood quickly and threw a few dollars onto the table. She exited the diner and climbed into a car she'd stolen a few hours before, and followed after them. The taillight to the motorcycle was just a dot in front of her. Digging out her cell phone, she pressed the autodial and held the receiver to her ear.

"Yeah," a gruff male voice answered after the third ring.

"They're on the move," she said, looking out her rearview mirror and signaling for a lane change. "You know what to do next?"

"Of course. You've both drilled it into my head so many times, how could I forget?"

"I don't know. You seem to have a gift for idiocy."

"Very funny." A pause resonated through the static. "You working on the next phase?"

"Don't worry about my job. I'm on it. Just do yours." She cut the call off and dialed again. The motorcycle stayed just within her sight, weaving through traffic but never getting too far ahead. It didn't matter, though, since she planned to exit at the next road anyway. She turned on her blinker, and started to veer to the right, when the ringing on the other end cut off and a female's voice answered. The woman smiled.

.o.O.o.

The man snapped his phone shut and threw it onto the mattress. He fell back onto the bed, his hand fisted in his hair, and let out a slow breath. Sounds of traffic filtered in from the open window and footsteps from his upstairs neighbor clomped across the floor overhead. The man groaned and lurched himself back up. He stood and gathered his things, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

The call had irritated him. He was getting sick of being bossed around by those two. If they wanted to dictate how everything was done, they should do it themselves. He was the one doing all the work, not them. It would seem they would find it in their hearts to at least give him a little praise for his efforts, but no, they scolded and called him names instead.

When he'd first gotten the call on this job, he'd wanted to turn it down, but his lingering debt didn't give him much choice in the matter. The Voice, as he called the man who'd contacted him since he'd never once seen his face, offered him a sum of money so large he would have been a fool to refuse. As time passed and the demands became less and less appealing, he wished he would have had the guts to say no. It just wasn't worth it anymore. He hadn't signed on thinking he'd be forced to attack girls and break into apartments. But he was stuck now. No way out—unless it was on a cold, hard slab in the morgue. That much, he knew.

With a sigh, the man grabbed his bag and threw in a pair of leather gloves, a dark baseball cap, and his lock-picking kit. He furrowed his brows and lifted a hand to his hair, spinning slowly and surveying the room. The feeling that he was forgetting something pinged at his mind. His eyes raked over the cluttered desk on the opposite wall, the unmade bed, nightstand, and floor, but nothing stood out to him. Shrugging, he made his way out to the main living area and to the front door.

In the hall, loud, booming music came from his neighbor's apartment. The man clenched his fists in an effort to keep himself from banging on the door. The last thing he needed was a confrontation tonight. He just wanted to get this over. Maybe this time he'd finally get what they needed and they'd leave him alone.

Finally, he made his way to the stairs and through the small lobby to the smog-filled outdoors. He raised his hand to place the ball cap on his head and crossed the street to the subway. It was crowded just like usual. He crammed his way inside the train, smooshing his body between a woman holding a crying infant and a balding middle-aged man clutching a briefcase. The woman glared at him, but he ignored it. She didn't own the damn subway. He closed his eyes and willed away the headache starting to form in his right temple.

Thankfully, with each stop the train seemed to empty faster than it filled. The crowd thinned and the man finally got to sit a few stops before he needed to exit. When he reached his station, he hurried out the door and pulled his phone out of his pocket, sending a text.

_I'm here._

His eyes fell on the intended target, the second floor apartment window currently illuminated by soft yellow light. His phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced down at the message displayed across the screen.

_Give me a few. Watch for it._

The man snapped his phone shut and ambled over to a nearby bench. He sat and started to rummage through his bag, pulling out the leather gloves and tucking his lock-pick kit into his pocket. After putting the gloves on, he pulled the bill of his hat low to hide his face. It wasn't cold, but chilly enough that he didn't think anyone would give him a second glance for wearing gloves.

Time moved slowly as he sat there watching pedestrians come and go into the café to his left. He kept his head down. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the door to the apartment building across the way opened and a group exited. A girl with long, black hair, and two dark-haired boys moved out onto the sidewalk, looking both ways before crossing the street toward the subway. The man diverted his glance in order to avoid suspicion. He waited several more minutes until he was sure the three of them had disappeared.

Slowly, he rose from the bench, hiked his bag over his shoulder, and made his way across the street. No one noticed him, and he opened the door to the building, making his way up to the second floor apartment. Dropping his backpack to the ground in front of the door, he looked both ways to make sure no one was around. When he was satisfied, he knelt and dug his lock-picking kit from his pocket. He knew they'd changed the locks since the last time he'd been there.

After a few moments, he heard the resounding click and smiled. Rising to his feet, he twisted the knob and walked into the apartment, closing the door as quietly as possible behind him and disappearing inside.

.o.O.o.

Traffic thinned the further Jace drove from the city, and soon, only empty highway stretched before him. Trees lined either side of the road and the signs told him he was nearing his destination. He hadn't been there in quite some time, but he was pretty sure he still knew how to get there.

Clary snuggled into his back, her arms tight around his waist and her thighs hugging him securely. Jace couldn't help but smile at the warmth of her against him. Somehow, just being near her helped him to forget everything about the situation that was wrong.

Earlier, in the kitchen, he'd wanted to kiss her—so much so that he'd pretty much disregarded the fact that anyone else was in the apartment. Even when he had realized, he couldn't seem to stop himself. There was something magnetic between them, and it was as if they had no choice but to come together.

In the past, he would have attributed the feeling to nothing more than a strong sexual attraction. A nice little romp usually cured him of that. But not this time. This time, it had only made him want her more, and not just in the usual sexual way. He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh, feel her touch him in any way she would give. In her presence, his tongue continuously lost the words that made him who he was with most girls. With her, he was someone else entirely.

Jace couldn't be sure which one was him anymore. Maybe he was both. Maybe neither. The biggest problem with all of this was how well he controlled himself around others. It wasn't like Isabelle and Alec didn't know enough already. But it wasn't as if he wanted them to know everything—or really anything if he was honest. He wanted to keep this private, to have something that was just his. Something he didn't have to share. Nothing in his life had ever been that way before. Mostly because he'd never felt the need to hide anything. With the Agency breathing down his neck, kissing Clary in public was the least of his concerns. In fact, it was expected, which only made him want to keep it to himself more.

Darkness clouded his good mood. This wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want the Agency to know about Clary's apparent feelings for him. He didn't want anyone thinking this was all about a job. But for her safety and his, he had to let them think that. He had to let them believe he was following their rules, their commands.

Finally, Jace spotted the large, iron gates closed over the drive. A small keypad sat off to the left, barely visible from between the tangle of bushes surrounding it. If one didn't already know it was there, it could have been easily missed. Jace pulled up next to it and punched in the code, the pad lighting after he hit the first number. The gate swung open with a loud squeal. It was obvious this entrance hadn't been used probably since the last time he'd been there. Jace twisted back on the gas and drove down the narrow, dirt lane, mostly overgrown with weeds. The gate closed with a clang behind them.

After a bit, the path opened into a clearing and Jace pulled the bike to a stop. Cutting the engine, he lowered his feet to the ground and pushed down the stand. His eyes moved over the area. Moonlight illuminated enough so Jace could still make out the now rusted swing set, merry-go-round, slide, and utility shed. Thick, dark woods surrounded the perimeter and gave the place the sense of privacy he craved.

Clary shifted behind him and pulled the helmet off her head. She moved to the side and slid off the bike, looking around for a moment before turning slowly toward him. Her face glowed in a soft blue tone and her eyes studied him quizzically.

"A park?" she asked.

Jace shrugged. "Don't you like parks?"

"Yeah, but there are parks closer to the city—" Clary looked around again. "And probably don't require an updated tetanus shot before going."

Jace chuckled and climbed off the bike. "This park is private."

"I can see why," Clary mumbled.

Jace grinned. "I used to come here all the time. Sometimes even Isabelle and Alec came. We carved our names in the side of that shed. And over there," Jace pointed to a thick hedge of bushes behind the swings, "after my sixth birthday party, is where I got my first kiss." He paused. "But as fascinating as my childhood years probably are to you, that isn't why I brought you here."

"Oh, no?" She turned to face him. "If not to brag about your adolescent conquests, then why?"

Jace smiled and pointed up. Clary followed his finger and let out a small gasp. Jace looked up as well, noting the clear sky and millions of shining dots lighting the blackness. Among the many individual stars, recognizable constellations stood out stark and bright against the dark sky. Clary raised a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide and gleaming in the moonlight.

"Stargazing," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly, and then glanced over at him. "You brought me stargazing?"

Jace shrugged. "You said you liked it when you used to do it with your mom. I just figured—"

Clary didn't allow him to finish before she bound over and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. She squeezed hard, pressing her body into his with more strength than Jace thought possible. "Thank you," she breathed. "Thank you for somehow knowing exactly what I needed."

"Don't give me too much credit," he said, letting himself hug her back. "It's highly likely I just wanted to get you alone and have my way with you."

She laughed and pulled back. "Liar." Clary's eyes studied his, and her hand rose to his cheek, her skin warm and soft against his. "You can be incredibly sweet when you want to be."

The way she looked at him caused Jace's heart to sputter in his chest. How could she do that? How could she make him feel these things with just one glance?

Jace swallowed against the foreign emotion swelling up inside him. "If you tell anyone, I'll be forced to kill you. I have a reputation to uphold."

"Oh, of course not." Clary leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek, just a brush of her lips against his skin, before drawing away. Jace wanted to pull her back and kiss her until he couldn't breathe, but he restrained himself. "Heaven forbid anyone finds out you have a heart."

"No, that wouldn't be good because then people would expect me to stop being an ass. I'm not sure I could deal with that."

"Me neither. I like it when you're an ass."

"No you don't."

"Okay." She laughed. "Maybe not all the time, but I have to admit it gives you a certain . . . _Je ne sais quoi_."

Jace turned to her and raised a brow. "_Je ne sais quoi?"_

"Yeah." Clary shrugged. "You know. It means—"

"I know what it means, Spitfire." Jace chuckled. "I'm just a little surprised and frankly a bit turned on at hearing you speak French."

"Oh, shut up! You are not." She turned away, and Jace could have sworn he saw her cheeks grow a shade darker.

"What? You think you're the only one who finds foreign languages sexy?"

"No, but it's not fair that you know so many. You have an unfair advantage." Clary glanced back at him, studying him carefully. "How do you know so many anyway?"

Jace thought about his answer for a moment. He couldn't tell her that Agents had to be fluent in at least one other language besides their native tongue, but that wasn't the whole reason anyway. Jace had chosen languages as one of his concentrations as soon as he knew he wanted to go into the 'family business' when he'd turned eight years old. There was just something about language that he found fascinating and beautiful. He figured he could tell her that, and although it wasn't the whole truth, at least it was still true.

"My dad spoke French fluently, and I used to sit and listen to him, memorizing the words and inflection. For some reason, it was easy for me to pick up. I liked that I was good at something so I kept at it until I could speak it just as easily as English." He shrugged. "I went to Spanish next, and then Italian."

"Huh," Clary said, biting her lower lip. "I kinda figured you just learned them to pick up chicks."

Jace laughed. "_Bon, c'est vraiment utile, n'est ce pas, ma chérie?_" [Well, it's certainly helpful in that respect, isn't it, my dear?"]

Clary scowled. "Okay, now that's really not fair because I have no idea what you just said. At least with Spanish, I can understand you, but French? Nuh uh."

"Really?" Jace cocked a brow and smirked. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"Uh oh." Clary backed away, holding her hands out in front of her. "I don't like that look."

Jace bit his lip and chuckled, moving in on her. "_Oh, tu l'aimes. Tu aimes ce regard parce que__ ce signifie que je suis sur le point de faire quelque chose très, très malin_" [Oh, yes you do. You love this look. You love it because it means I'm about to do something very, very naughty.]

Clary backed into one of the rusted poles of the swing set and raised her hands, forming a T. "Okay, okay, time out."

Jace paused just as his fingers circled her waist. She placed her palms against his chest and pushed him back lightly.

"I just need a minute to," in the middle of her sentence she bolted to the side, giggling as she taunted him, "get away from you!"

Jace lunged after her, hooking his arm around her waist. She squealed. God, he loved that sound. He pulled her back against his chest and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "_Pourquoi est-ce que tu t'échappes de moi? Est-ce parce que tu veux partir, ou est-ce que tu veux que je te poursuivrai?_" ["Why are you running from me, sweetheart? Is it because you want to get away, or because you want me to chase you?"] Jace nuzzled his nose into her hair. "_Parce que je peux te poursuivre toute la nuit, mon amour, je veux te poursuivre. Demande-moi de te poursuivre,_" ["Because I can chase you all night long, love. I want to chase you. Ask me to chase you,"] he said, recognizing the pleading edge to his voice. "_Je te promets que, tôt ou tard,_ _je t'attraperai. Et quand je t'aurai, je ne te laisserai échapper._" ["I promise you, sooner or later, I'll get you. And when I have you, I won't let you escape."]

Clary turned slowly in his arms, her eyes burning into his. "I have no idea what the hell you just said, but I don't think I care." She lifted herself on tip-toes and pressed their foreheads together, her lips just barely touching his and her eyes closed. Jace could feel her warm breath on his tongue. "Say something else. I want to feel you say it," she said against his mouth.

Jace slipped his hands up her back, over her shoulders, and grasped her face, holding it tightly against his, his own eyes closing. "_Je ne sais pas quoi dire. Ce que je veux dire, je ne devrai pas dire . . . Je ne peux pas dire._" [I don't know what to say. Everything I want to say, I shouldn't say . . . I can't say.]

Clary let out a breath and fisted her hands into his jacket. He brushed his lips over hers once, twice, three times, before pressing them firmly against her mouth. Her body fell slack against him, and she let go of his jacket, laying her palms flat against his chest. The heat of her touch soaked through the leather and seared into his skin. Jace let his hands fall from her face, the backs of his fingers trailing lightly down the sides of her neck. Clary's mouth opened slightly and Jace felt her tongue prod gently against his bottom lip. A wave of fire shot down his spine and his hands clutched at her jacket. He wanted to pull her into him and hold her so tight that not a single molecule of air would exist between them. But he paced himself, meeting her kiss but forcing himself to remain gentle and calm.

As much as he wanted nothing more than to continue to kiss her, Jace drew back. He left his forehead against hers and they stood there for a few moments, only the puffs of their breath between them. Jace ran his hands down her arms and she shivered under his touch.

"Come on," he said as he cocked his head toward the forest and let his fingers lace together with hers.

"You mean this isn't it? Damn. I was all excited about how we were going to try to swing on those swings without falling on our asses when the chains broke."

Jace laughed and pulled Clary after him. "No, Smartass."

Clary raised a brow and they set off together toward the edge of the woods just behind the shed. A small, dirt path peeked out from between the trees. Luckily, Jace had followed the trail so many times he could do it with his eyes closed. Clary clutched tightly to his hand, and he pulled her into him. She grabbed the back of his jacket and held on as he led her through the wooded area. Several minutes later, they broke through to another clearing, this one larger and much more impressive.

Jace stopped at the border of the tree line and pulled Clary up next to him. She stopped, her eyes wide and mouth open. Jace chuckled and followed her gaze to the impressive stone home situated across the large manicured lawn. It stood several stories high, the architecture old and gothic in nature. Jace felt it was somewhat pretentious with its columns and spires, but it would serve its purpose tonight. Sculpted bushes ran a perimeter around the center of the yard, setting the wooden gazebo and flagstone patio apart from the rest of the grounds. He tugged on Clary's arm but she didn't budge.

"Wait," she said in a harsh whisper. "We can't go over there. That's someone's house. We could get into trouble, and I'm not interested in going to jail—I don't care how sexy you might look in prison orange."

Jace rolled his eyes and pulled on her once more. "We're not going to get in trouble. Trust me."

"How do you know?"

He turned toward her and held her face between his palms. "I know because this is my grandfather's place—well, it was." Leaning down, he grinned. "Now, it's mine."

Clary's eyes widened and she slapped his hands away. Jace stumbled back, his brows lifted in surprise. "_This_ is yours?" Clary moved around him and stood in a stream of moonlight, her hands thrust on her hips.

Jace stared. He couldn't help it. His eyes were drawn to her, and he couldn't force them away. The way she looked, silhouetted against the backdrop of his family's home, like she fit, like she belonged. Right there. Right in that moment. With him. It was enough to make his breath catch.

After a few minutes of gawking, Clary turned to Jace, her face fixed into an expression of shock. "If this is yours, why the hell do you live in that crappy apartment?"

"Can you honestly see me living here?" Jace scrunched his nose. "I guess it's nice and all, but a little narcissistic for my taste."

Clary let out a loud snort. "You? You're worried about looking too vain?" She slapped her leg and giggled. "Oh, that's classic."

"You know, just because I'm pretty doesn't mean I have to live in a place like this. It always seems like people are compensating for something when they feel the need to own something this showy." He swept his hand toward the building. "I have nothing to compensate for. I'm perfectly amazing just as I am. I just don't know what to do with this place."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Why don't you just sell it then?"

"I don't know." Jace shrugged. "Sentimentality?"

"Aww. See?" Clary reached up and patted his cheek. "Such a sweetheart. You're not fooling me with that macho douchebag act at all," she said in a voice like she was talking to a baby.

Jace grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him, his other arm wrapping around her back. "If you don't stop calling me sweet, I'm going to have to forego my plans and show you just how naughty I can be."

"I'm not sure that's exactly a threat," she said. "But I _am_ really curious about what you've got planned, so I'll try and restrain myself."

"Good," he said. "Now, let's go."

Breaking away from Clary, Jace led the way across the lawn toward the house. Clary stopped every few minutes to admire something else. First, it was the gazebo, then a few angel sculptures that lined the walkway, then the koi pond near the entrance, and lastly the greenhouse. Jace finally had to wrap his arm around her waist and drag her up the stone steps to the back entrance.

Fishing his keys from his pocket, he located the right one and stuck it into the lock, twisting until he heard the satisfying click. He pushed open the door and gestured for Clary to go inside. She grinned at him and stepped over the threshold. Jace followed and closed the door behind him. Dust motes swirled through the shafts of moonlight shining in through the massive floor-to ceiling windows. It was apparent no one had been there since after his grandfather's death several months earlier. He tried the light switch next to the door but the electricity was off, just as he expected.

"I guess a full tour will have to wait until daylight."

Jace looked around the large reading room. Shelves upon shelves of dusty books lined the side walls, while the back was completely covered in glass. A metal, spiral staircase sat in the corner next to the fireplace, and pictures lined the mantle.

Clary moved over to it, her fingers tracing along the frames of each individual photograph. Finally, she stopped at one and picked it up, brought it to her mouth, and blew the dirt from the glass. A large smile took over her face and she looked up at Jace. "What's this?" she asked.

Jace walked over to her and took the frame from her hands. Smiling out from behind the glass, was a photo of himself, eight, maybe nine years old, holding a bow and arrow in front of a target. He scowled and set it back on the mantle, face down.

"Oh, come on." Clary giggled and picked it back up. She paused. "What was _up_ with your hair?"

"All right." Jace laughed and reached for the frame. Clary drew her hand back and stretched it behind her, holding the photo out of Jace's reach. He swiped at it again. "Give it. How would you like it if I made fun of your kid pictures?"

"You wouldn't make fun of them because I was cute. And I didn't have Ronald McDonald hair." She bit her lip and grinned.

"Ron—Are you kidding me?" He thrust his hand out once more and managed to wrestle the frame away from her. Glancing down, he frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?" He flipped the frame around to face her. "I was adorable."

"You were." Clary eyed the photo and looked back at him, her lip caught between her teeth. "You are."

"Okay, this is heading back to 'sweet' territory." Jace placed the frame back on the mantle and grabbed Clary's hand, leading her to the spiral staircase in the corner. "I think I'm going to have to do something to distract you from my apparent sweetness. It can't be avoided."

"Oh, yeah? And just what might that be?" Clary followed along behind him, not protesting in the least when he started up the stairs.

"Don't you worry, I'll think of something. But for now . . ." Jace reached back to pull Clary in front of him, covered her eyes with his hand, and carefully guided her up the rest of the stairs. They cleared the top and stepped out into the room. Clary stayed tucked against his chest and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "Just look up."

Jace stepped back and removed his hand from her eyes. Clary's chin tilted toward the ceiling and she gasped. His mouth pulled into a grin and he followed her gaze. Dark, wooden bookcases, matching those downstairs, bordered every wall of the perfectly circular room. A long ladder on wheels attached to a track that circled the entire room. In the middle of the floor, lay a large feather bed, a few beanbag chairs, and a couch. But the showcase of the room, the reason it had been Jace's favorite as a child and the reason he'd brought Clary in the first place, was the large, dome-shaped glass ceiling that doubled as an observatory. A large, underused telescope rested near the wall.

The sky stretched out overtop of them, millions of twinkling stars dotting the expanse. The way the ceiling had been forged made the seams virtually invisible, and with no lights except the illumination of the moon, it appeared as if they were standing outside, but without the coolness of the fall weather to chill their skin. Jace moved up next to Clary and bit his lip, feeling slightly nervous for some reason.

"So?" he asked.

She turned toward him, her eyes wide. "So?"

"What do you think?"

Clary looked back up and let out a slow breath. "It's amazing. I've never seen anything like it."

"I told you my grandfather was pompous. He told me this room made him feel like he was sitting in Heaven. Like he held the world in his hands."

She laughed and shook her head. "Yeah, well, at least I know you come by it honestly."

"Hell, I must really be an ass," he said jokingly.

"You can be." Clary turned to him once more, her face serious. "But I don't think that's really who you are deep down. I've told you that from the beginning." Lifting a hand, she placed it over his heart. "There's more to you in here. I don't know why you hide it."

Jace didn't know how to respond to that. In all honesty, he didn't believe there was more to him than what he portrayed. But for some reason, with Clary, his assyness seemed to take a hiatus. He didn't know why or even how he did it. It wasn't something he tried to do, it just was.

"Come on," he said, and led her over to the large, fluffy feather bed in the middle of the floor. "The best seat in the house."

Clary grinned and plopped down, the white fabric billowing up around her. She laughed and lay back, letting the puffy material engulf her. She looked so small and perfect, like an angel lying on a cloud. "Aren't you coming?"

Jace retuned her smile and lowered himself onto his back next to her. The bedding was soft and cozy, and smelled of the surrounding ink and parchment, just like he remembered. For a moment, he was transported back to being that little boy. The one filled with aspirations and hope. The one who wished more than anything that his parents would look at him the same way Isabelle and Alec's parents looked at them. He furrowed his brow and stared up at the sky.

After several minutes, he became aware of Clary's gaze on him. Without looking at her, he asked, "Why are you staring at me? I brought you here to look at the stars, not gaze into my beauty. Not that I blame you."

She giggled. "I like looking at you. Is that a crime?"

"No. But you can look at me anytime." He turned toward her, meeting her eyes in the dark. "The stars, on the other hand, you can only glimpse through the pollution and smog."

Her eyes stayed on his, wide and probing. "That's how I feel when I look at you sometimes. Like I can't see you clearly through the veil you put over yourself. But here . . ." Clary reached out and ran her fingertips over his cheekbone. "Here it's gone." She touched the space between his brows, rubbing as if trying to remove a spot of dirt. "Why do you look so sad? Didn't you have happy memories here?"

"Sure I did. Why would you think that?"

"Because ever since you lay down here, you've had this crease," she traced the space between his brows once more and scooted closer until her nose touched his, "right here. And it won't go away."

"Oh." He frowned deeper. "I was just thinking about my parents, that's all."

"Were they mean?" Clary continued to touch his face.

"No, not mean," Jace said, his hand moving to take hers and lace their fingers together. "They just couldn't be bothered with me, I guess. I spent a lot of time here and with Izzy and Alec while my parents did their thing. I don't really even know them."

Clary frowned but didn't ask any more questions about his parents, for which he was glad. It wasn't that he didn't want to share; quite the opposite, actually, and that was a first for him. Clary made him feel like talking, like opening up, like . . . feeling. And he would have, had she asked. But, still, she didn't. She simply said, "Thank you for bringing me here. For showing me this place."

Jace looked at her, taking in the way the pale, blue light washed over her skin, making it appear like porcelain, the wide, brightness of her eyes even in the dark, and the soft, gentle curve of her mouth. Her hair flowed over her shoulders, looking dark instead of the orangey-red it appeared in the sunlight. "You're welcome. But I think you're missing the point of stargazing. You're not really gazing at the stars at all."

"No," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm gazing at something much better."

Jace sucked in a breath and then swallowed against the tightness in his throat. Finally, Clary broke her stare and glanced between them at their entwined hands. Jace closed his eyes and focused on slowing his racing heart, not succeeding in the least. It thrashed and pounded against his ribs in an almost painful way.

"Can I ask you something?" Clary's quiet voice broke through the roar of the blood rushing through his veins.

He opened his eyes and saw she was still looking at their hands. Her thumb moved slowly over his knuckles, the sensation sparking and warming his skin. "Yeah."

Without looking up, she said, "Why did you ask me not to fall in love with you?"

This time, Jace could have sworn his heart stopped completely. "What?"

Clary raised her eyes to his. "That night, when we were together the first time, you asked me not to fall in love with you. Why?"

"Uh." He wracked his brain trying to remember when he might have said that and drew a blank. "I—I don't . . ."

Clary shook her head quickly and raised a finger to his lips. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that."

Jace let out a slow breath, feeling relieved, though he didn't know why. It shouldn't have been hard to give her all of the reasons why. He had a list, most of which he couldn't tell her outright, but he had plenty that he could. Still, the words stayed locked inside his mouth. Why couldn't he say them? Why couldn't he warn her away any longer? The answer was simple. Because he didn't want to. He wanted her right there, beside him, her hand enclosed in his and her breath warming his face. He knew he shouldn't want it, that wanting it was all kinds of wrong, but he did all the same.

Warnings flashed inside his mind, telling him to back away now, to let her loose before he hurt her worse. Jace repelled the thought, and before he knew it, his hand was on her cheek and his lips were covering hers. Clary reacted immediately to him, her fingers twisting into the hair at the back of his neck and her mouth opening against his.

Jace allowed his body to take over and felt himself sliding flush against her, his hand leaving her face and trailing down her side before it clenched her hip. Clary gasped against his lips and tightened her grip on his hair. Jace pulled her snugly against him, his hand slipping up under the hem of her hoodie and around to her back. The warmth of her skin against his caused him to shudder.

Clary's hands fell from his hair and tucked under his jacket, pushing it carefully from his shoulders. She trailed her fingers down his arms, tracing and circling the cords of muscle. Jace moved his hand to the zipper of her hoodie and pulled it down slowly. His mind had completely shut down at that point and all he was aware of was her. Her warmth, her scent, her touch. She was all that existed, and she was all he wanted. He didn't care about the case, or his job, or about how much trouble he would be in when this was all over. She was it. She was everything.

Once he had the hoodie removed from her body, his fingers moved to the buttons on her shirt, each one popping free easily all the way to the bottom to reveal the black lacey bra underneath. Jace slid his fingers along her stomach and lowered his lips from hers to her collarbone, his hand rising slowly to run along her shoulder and gently cup her neck. He could feel her pulse thrumming against his palm. Lowering his face, he brushed tiny kisses along the tops of her breasts and in between.

Just like the previous times, feeling rose up inside him, crashing over him in waves of heat. The sensation tightened his chest and clenched his gut. His heart pounded harder and harder against his ribs. He loved and hated the feeling all at the same time. After a moment, Jace rested his forehead against her chest, letting out a shaking breath, and with it, came the word, "Please."

He didn't know why he said it, or why he said the next words that came tumbling from his mouth. All he knew was he couldn't stop them.

"I need you." His hands moved to her hips and dug into her skin. "God, I don't know why, but I need you."

Clary responded by reaching down and grasping his face, pulling him up to her. Jace closed his eyes and followed.

"Look at me," she whispered.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Clary stared up at him, innocence and light flowing out of her. Jace felt his body tense as she drew him down to her, her lips brushing his as she answered, "You have me," against his mouth.

Those three tiny words were all it took for Jace to lose himself completely. He took Clary's face in his hands and let himself kiss her like he wanted. Like he craved. It was as if he needed to devour her, to take her into himself and keep her there, safe and untainted, forever.

Their hands moved over each other, tearing at shirts and pressing bared flesh to bared flesh. Every inch of Clary he touched was one more inch he needed to touch. He wanted to own her; her body, her heart, her soul. Jace no longer cared if it was wrong to want her, to need her. In that moment, she was his, only his. It was his body wrapped around hers, his whispered name falling from her lips, his touch her words begged for more of. And it was her body, her name, her touch, he'd give anything for.

Clary let her hands trail down his chest, only stopping when she reached the top of his jeans. Her fingers traced along the edge of the fabric, teasingly dipping inside and running along the band. Jace let his head fall back as Clary lowered her lips to his neck, her nails digging into his shoulders and scratching down his back. Delicious pain exploded through him. The stars overhead seemed closer, brighter than before. Orion's belt sat directly overhead and more noticeable than any other constellation.

Clary continued to move over his chest, her mouth warm and wet against his skin. Jace fisted his hands in her hair, the tendrils tickling his flesh as she made her way down his body. The pop of the snap from his jeans and the lowering of his zipper, sounded loud in the silence of the house. Jace closed his eyes as Clary's lips teased the flesh just above his boxer briefs. Her fingers moved lower, tucking under the band of his underwear and tugging slowly against the fabric as her mouth followed. Jace's breath caught and his grip tightened in her hair when he felt a jolting buzz against his hip. He jumped at the sensation and Clary stopped, frozen with her fingers hooked in his boxers and her face hovering over his stomach.

"Jace," she said.

Jace clenched his eyes tighter and tried to ignore the annoying buzz. "Don't stop," he breathed. "Please, don't stop."

The God damned buzz vibrated against his hip again.

"But . . . your phone."

Jace reached into his pocket, wrenching the offending object from its confines and pressing the silence button. He tossed it aside and grabbed Clary's face, pulling it hard to his. His lips crashed against hers. Her mouth tasted so good, he could barely make himself stop to breathe. "I don't care about the damn phone. Just—" Jace's throat clenched around his words as Clary's fingers assumed their position, only this time, slipping further into his pants. A deep, gust of air left his lungs and a groaned, "Damn it," fell from his lips.

Flipping Clary onto her back, Jace settled over her, his body stretching the length of hers and his hand tugging at her pants. Clary thrust one hand back into his hair and the other grasped at his hip, trying to bring him closer. Her teeth closed around his bottom lip as her ragged breath filled his mouth, intoxicating him with the essence of her.

Jace had her pants halfway down her legs when the sound of Lady Gaga's LoveGame came from Clary's bag. He groaned and lowered his head to her chest.

"Ignore it," Clary said. But just as the words left her lips, Jace's phone started buzzing again.

"What the hell?" he said and reached over to grab his cell. Isabelle's name and the word "Urgent" flashed across the screen. Jace glanced at Clary and she thrust her hands into her hair in a frustrated gesture. He clicked the call button. "Jesus Christ, Izzy, this better be impor—"

Isabelle interrupted him with a string of expletives and then launched into an explanation that consisted mostly of shrieks and sobs. The only words he caught were "theater," "break in," and "hurt."

Jace rose to his knees, his jeans and boxer briefs half hanging off his hips. "Izzy! Slow the hell down. Now, what?" Clary sat up in front of him, her face just inches from his, her wide eyes locking on him and panic seeping into the green pools. As Isabelle recounted her earlier story, Jace felt the heat drain from his face. His eyes met Clary's, his heart stuttering to a near stop at the fear in her gaze.

"We're on our way," he said and pressed the end button.

"Jace," Clary said, still frozen in her spot.

Standing, Jace looked around until he located his shirt and pulled it over his head, his hands shaking, and zipped his jeans in the process. A million and one thoughts flew through his mind. But, the most prominent was how in the hell he was supposed to tell Clary.

"Jace," Clary repeated.

Jace turned toward her, swallowed hard, and knelt down in front of her.

"What's wrong?" Her voice shook.

"Listen," he tried to speak calmly. "I need you to get dressed, baby. All right? I need you to get dressed and then we need to go."

"But wh—"

Jace pressed a finger to her mouth and shook his head. "Don't ask why, just get dressed. I'll tell you when you're finished. I just need you—" his voice caught, and he cursed his damn nerves, "I just need you to get dressed."

"Okay." Clary quickly put on her bra, pulled up her pants, and grabbed her shirt, not lining up the buttons with the holes as she tried to do it up. Once she finished, she stood, her face pale and scared. "Tell me," she said.

Jace closed his eyes and tried to find the words, but none came.

"Tell me, Jace!" she cried, her voice and body trembling.

Jace met her gaze and took in a deep breath. "There was another break in, and someone was . . ." He studied her reaction carefully, trying to make himself say it and hoping the next words he spoke wouldn't break her completely. Taking her face in his hands, he let the words fall from his lips. "It's Simon."

* * *

_Putting on my flame retardant suit and going to hide with DJ in our bomb shelter. Yes, I know this was cruel. First, a cockblock of epic proportions and then a horrific cliffy like this? I know, I know. But you know I'll make it up to you, right? ;)  
_

_As always, thanks to my superstar beta, LLWB. Without her, this thing would be filled with craptastical mistakes. *smooches*_

_Until next week. XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	15. Hold Me

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**14. Hold Me**

**Some of you have asked about my beta's reactions to the chapters. This one, she let me know that she needed "lots of tissues" for it. So, maybe I should warn y'all too? ;)

_Chapter Songs:_

_**The City Limits – Umbrellas_

_**Nowhere Warm – Kate Havnevik_

_**Into the Fire – Thirteen Senses_

_**I Was Wrong - Sleepstar_

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A perfect duplicate of the city reflected over the dark water of the river. Jace sped across the bridge, the chilly air biting at his cheeks and streaming through his hair. He gripped the handle bars tightly, his knuckles turning white in the cold. The bright glow from thousands of tiny lights burned in the windows, creating a halo around the buildings and acting as a beacon guiding him in.

Clary clung tightly to his back, her fists twisted in his jacket. Jace could feel her panic in the tenseness of her grip and the trembling of her hands. She held onto him as if he could somehow save her from whatever it was she was about to see. He wished he could.

When Jace received Isabelle's frantic phone call, he'd had no idea how to break the news to Clary. Simon was her best friend. Not that Jace understood the reasons why—the boy seemed like a total tool to him—but Clary liked him. Probably even loved him. Jace had been afraid she'd break down, scream, possibly even cry—and he wasn't the best person to deal with a girl crying. Surprisingly, though, she hadn't. He should have known. She was a tough girl, and she'd proven that toughness time and time again. Her face had paled, but she'd just calmly nodded and followed him out to the bike. Jace knew she wasn't fine, knew she must have been freaking out inside, but on the outside she had been stoic.

Traffic slowed to a near crawl, and Jace gave no afterthought to weaving around the cars and trucks lining the lane. If there were any way he could go faster, he would. He knew Clary wanted to get there, _needed_ to get there. Horns blared and the other motorists cursed at him, but Jace paid them no attention. He didn't have the time or tolerance to deal with the impatience of Manhattan tonight.

As he drove, Jace let his gaze sweep over the expanse of the metropolis sprawled out before them. The world-famous skyline fanned alongside the river, its massive buildings stretching into the sky and practically touching the heavens. Vehicles and pedestrians crowded the streets and sidewalks, their incessant hum making the city buzz with manic energy.

There had been a time, in the not-so-distant past, when Jace had loved the city. There was always something exciting to do, or place to go. He loved the constant movement, the busyness, and the drive that seemed to push everything forward against its will. The city never made excuses for what it was. It never slept, never apologized. It didn't need to. It was what it was, and everyone who came there knew it never changed. They knew if this was the place they chose to be, they were the ones that would be changed. Because the city didn't lie, or pretend, or disappoint. It stood steady, hard, and hazardous, never deviating from its path.

Jace had always respected it in that. Probably, because in his eyes, he was exactly like the city—unbreakable, proud, dangerous.

But now, the city felt foreign and distant. Almost as if—even though Jace drove through it, lived in it, and worked in it—he could no longer touch it. It was lost to him. _He_ was lost to him.

Traffic started to move a little quicker once Jace cleared the bridge. He pulled into the fast lane and twisted back on the gas. The bike shot forward and Clary's hands tightened in his jacket.

Jace couldn't help but wonder if everything he'd believed about the city—and himself, had been a lie all along, or if something actually had changed. If it had, was it the city? The place he'd always believed couldn't vary? Or was it him? He was pretty sure he knew the answer.

Something _had_ happened to him over the course of the last few weeks. And that something, sat behind him, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist, and her head resting against his back. When Jace was with her, nothing looked or felt the same. He couldn't help but wonder if he really wasn't as dangerous or as unbreakable as he'd thought. Maybe he never had been.

Or perhaps he had, and she had somehow managed to break the unbreakable and tame the unsafe. Maybe she was the reason Jace questioned all the things he'd ever believed to be true. It was possible she was the reason for everything, because one thing was for certain: she made things different.

She made _him_ different.

Or maybe . . . she just made him . . . _him_.

The stars they'd escaped the city to see still stretched overhead, dulled by a thick layer of pollution and the bright lights coming off from the city. The traffic grew more congested the closer they got to their destination. After they'd made their way through the crowded streets, the hospital finally loomed before them.

The impressive building stretched high into the sky, its white-stone outer glowing against the night. Cars lined the street on either side in front of it. Some stopped and let people out, and some picked others up. Doctors and nurses came and went through the double doors, their faces haggard and exhausted. Jace could feel Clary fidgeting behind him. She was impatient to get inside and he supposed he could understand it. If it had been Alec or Isabelle, he was sure he'd feel the same.

Jace pulled up to the front and stopped in the "loading and unloading only zone." A large stone fountain sat just across from the entrance in a manicured grassy section—a definite oddity in the middle of the city. The water flowing through it splashed and gurgled, giving a false sense of serenity to the surrounding chaos.

Clary jumped off the back of the bike and paused to look at him.

"You go," he said. "I need to find somewhere to park."

Clary hesitated for a moment before pulling the helmet off from her head and handing it to him. Jace took it, and without warning, Clary reached up and grabbed his face. She pulled him down and kissed him hard on the mouth. Jace couldn't stop his eyes from closing the instant her lips touched his, and they stayed shut for several seconds after she pulled away.

"Thank you," she whispered, then turned on her heel and ran into the crowd, pushing her way through until she reached the doors.

It took Jace a few moments to clear his head enough to move his bike back out onto the street. Clary never ceased to surprise him. He figured she'd jump off and rush into the hospital without so much as a word to him. But as always, she'd done the last thing he'd expect.

After making several trips around the block, Jace finally found a parking spot. He eased the motorcycle in and walked back up the street to the hospital. Once there, he followed the signs to the emergency room, dodging the hurrying doctors and nurses on his way. When he found the waiting room, he spotted Isabelle hunched over in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs, her hands thrust into her hair. It flowed down around her, a black veil hiding her face from view.

Jace crossed the room and sat down beside her. She looked up and breathed out in relief.

"Finally," she said, rubbing her bloodshot eyes.

"I got here as fast as I could." He leaned forward. "Where's Clary?"

Isabelle nodded toward the two double doors across from them. "Simon's sister left Clary's name with the nurse. Said she could come back. They just took her in." She eyed him carefully. "Where were you?"

"Does it matter?"

Isabelle closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "No, I suppose not."

"What happened?" Jace asked. "The full, less hysterical version this time, if you don't mind."

She glared at him and then shook her head. "I don't really know. We got a call from some people from school, wanting to know if we wanted to go to the theater and then the club afterward. We had nothing else to do so we said we'd go." Isabelle leaned back into the chair. "We got all the way to the subway station when Simon realized he'd forgotten his I.D. He told us to go on and he'd meet us there. Alec and I left."

"And?"

"And nothing." Isabelle shrugged. "We got on the train and went to the theater. We stood outside and waited for an hour before we started to get worried."

"It took you an hour?" Jace asked skeptically.

"Give me a break, Jace, all right? It was perfectly acceptable to think he got held up in the subway or whatever."

"Fine." Jace waved her annoyance away. "Then what?"

"Well." Isabelle let out a slow breath. "First, I tried to call Simon's cell, but there was no answer. I called several times, but . . . nothing. So, Alec and I decided to go back to the apartment and see what was keeping him." She shook her head. "We never expected to find what we did."

"Which was?" Jace asked, starting to feel impatient with Isabelle's slow storytelling.

She looked up, her eyes filled with guilt. "He was—he was lying on the floor in the front hall of the apartment. There was glass everywhere and blood—" Her voice caught and she raised her hand to her mouth. "I thought he was dead. He wasn't moving and he wouldn't wake up." She shook her head. "We shouldn't have let him go alone. I—I had a bad feeling all night. I just—I knew it."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't know," Isabelle said. "I just had this feeling." She glanced at Jace. "I thought it had to do with you and your little secret romance, but apparently I was wrong."

Jace ignored her comment about his love life. "So, what's wrong with him—with Simon?"

"I don't know." She looked toward the door. "No one will talk to me because I'm not family and his sister doesn't know me." Isabelle lowered her gaze to her hands. "I really thought he was dead," she repeated quietly.

Jace didn't know how to react. Isabelle wasn't the type of girl who liked to be comforted, and he'd never been the type of guy to comfort anyone anyhow. So, he just sat there beside her, not saying a word for several minutes. Finally, she lifted her head and stared off into the corner.

"We're failing," Isabelle said.

Jace closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. "No, we're not." He said the words but he didn't really believe them. Part of him thought they were failing too.

"Yes, we are." Isabelle lowered her voice to a whisper. "We're trained Agents—at least mostly—and we can't seem to catch a stinking stalker. What does that say about us, huh?"

Jace looked at her. Her eyes were lined with dark circles and her normally glowing skin looked dull and pale. "It says that we're on our first assignment, and training alone doesn't cut it to give us all the tools we need to do this job. We're still learning, Isabelle."

She barked a humorless chuckle. "Right. And while we learn, people are getting hurt. Why the hell did they put us on a job this important, Jace?"

"Because they believed we could do it, Izzy, and we can. Stop being so dramatic and get your head back in the game. We've all kind of lost sight of the goal here and we need to get it back." Jace knew he, more than any of them, had allowed himself to become distracted. He cleared his throat. "Where's Alec?"

"Back at the apartment. He didn't trust the NYPD to conduct a proper investigation." Isabelle grinned weakly. "Imagine that."

Jace huffed. "Maybe I should go help him."

Isabelle raised her brows. "You're not going to stay? You're not going to wait . . ."

He shook his head. "Time to get back on this. Besides, you're going to be here, right?"

"Yeah, but Clary . . ."

Jace bit his lip and looked down at his hands. "I really don't think she'll miss me, do you?" He glanced up at Isabelle sideways.

"I don't know, she might."

"She's got enough to deal with right now." Jace sighed and stood. "I'm more useful to her if I catch this bastard. If she asks, just tell her I went to help Alec with the police." He started toward the doors but stopped when he heard Isabelle call his name.

"Jace?"

He turned to face her. "Yeah?"

She studied him carefully, her eyes sad. "I'm sorry this situation with Clary is so complicated. I wish . . ." She paused and gave him a small smile. "She's good for you, you know?"

Jace sighed and turned back to the door. "Yeah, I know," he said to himself.

.o.O.o.

Clary stopped outside the door, her hands clasped in front of her and her heart racing in her chest. Only a slab of wood with a small rectangular piece of glass stood between her and the truth of what happened to her best friend. Across the hall, the whoosh of a breathing machine and the persistent beeps of a heart monitor echoed loudly in her ears. Doctors and nurses hurried from room to room. Sometimes their faces held somber expressions and sometimes they showed joy. They kept their noses buried in charts and never once glanced in Clary's direction. It was probably better. She was sure she looked sickly and didn't want one of them mistaking her for a patient.

She drew in a deep breath and reached out to grasp the handle when the door jerked open. Dark, familiar eyes met hers and a look of relief crossed the pale face. Simon's sister, Rebecca, stepped out into the hall and took Clary into her arms. Her dark, chin length hair brushed against Clary's cheek, tickling her skin.

Rebecca pulled back, her hands still grasping Clary's upper arms. "It's been too long, Morgenstern." She smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corners just like Simon's.

The similarity made Clary's chest hurt. What was she going to find when she entered that room? Her eyes shifted to the door just over Rebecca's shoulder.

"He's okay," Rebecca said, reading Clary's thoughts.

Relief as powerful as a tidal wave crashed over her, and Clary's gaze snapped back to Rebecca's face. "Really?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yeah. He was really lucky. Just a knock on the head and some stitches." The smile slipped from her face. "They said—they said if it would've been just a few millimeters in either direction . . ." Rebecca swallowed and breathed in sharply. "But it wasn't. It wasn't and he's going to be okay. They want to keep him overnight for monitoring, just in case there's any swelling in the brain."

"That—that sounds serious."

"It can be," Rebecca said. "But so far, so good." She turned around and eyed the door. "They gave him something for pain and to help him sleep. I was just going to go down and join Mom in the cafeteria."

"Oh," Clary said. "Should I not go in?"

"No, no." Rebecca waved her hand in front of her. "He'd probably never forgive you if he knew you left without seeing him."

Clary nodded and swallowed against the tightness in her throat. "True."

Rebecca patted Clary on the shoulder, turned, and started down the hall. Clary closed her eyes and sucked in a breath before pushing the door open. It closed with a quiet thud behind her as she stepped over the threshold. The room was dark except for a dim light over the sink across from the bed. Loud beeps and the rhythmic sound of soft breathing filled the space.

Clary could make out the lump of her best friend curled up in the middle of the small bed. White sheets and a soft blue, waffle-knit blanket covered his body. The scent of blood and rubbing alcohol laced the air. Clary shivered as she slowly crossed the room. The closer she got, the more of Simon she could see, and the more anxious she became. Rebecca said he was fine, but Clary couldn't control the twinges of panic still coursing through her body.

Simon lay on his side, his knees bent and drawn up to his chest. The covers had been pulled to his chin, so only his dark head was visible above them. Clary stepped up to the side of the bed, her throat constricting as she looked down on him.

A white, rectangular bandage covered the area just above his left temple and gauze wrapped around his head to hold it in place. Tubes and wires stretched from the IV in his arm and the pulse monitor on his finger to the stand next to the bed. His eyes were closed, his dark lashes just brushing the curve of his cheeks. Small wisps of nearly black hair fell over the gauze onto his forehead and the rest stuck up in every possible direction. Clary had always teased him about how out of control his hair was. How it managed to look like he hadn't bothered to pull a comb through it even after he'd wet and gelled it into place. Clary raised her hand to her mouth and felt her eyes sting. Even at almost five feet ten inches, he looked so small and vulnerable lying there.

Clary sat as quietly as she could in the chair situated at his side. Reaching out, she ran her finger along the top of his hand, feeling the bony knuckles and veins under his warm skin. Everything about Simon was familiar to her. The way he looked, the way he moved, the way he breathed. He'd been a huge part of her life, the largest part, for as long as she could remember. Not a day went by that she hadn't been with or at least talked to him. Since the age of five, they'd been pretty much inseparable. They were two halves to one whole. She couldn't imagine how her life might have turned out without him.

Clary closed her eyes and laid her forehead against the mattress. Guilt swelled up inside, the pressure threatening to shatter her into a million pieces. This was all her fault, she knew it. She didn't know what this person wanted, but she had no doubt they'd come to the apartment for her. How could she ever look at Simon again, knowing he was injured because of her? Because he happened to live with her. Because he was her friend. Friends protected their friends. They didn't get them hurt. And they certainly didn't get them almost killed.

"Is she gone?" a voice whispered.

Clary looked up and her heart skipped a few beats.

Simon cracked one lid. "Well, is she?"

Clary couldn't help the grin that stretched across her face. "Who?"

"Rebecca." He opened both eyes all the way. "Is she gone?"

"She went to the cafeteria with your mom."

Simon let out a slow breath. "Thank God. She was making me wish that guy had conked me harder and put me in a coma."

Clary laughed in spite of herself. "That's not funny."

"Yes it is." He smiled back.

Clary closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry," he said. "Next time I'll try to duck faster when a crystal vase comes flying at my head. You know, just to spare you any undue stress."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure." Simon tried to sit up but Clary pushed him back down when he winced in pain. "Izzy, Alec, and I were invited out to the movies and the club afterward. I forgot my I.D. so I went back to get it." He shrugged. "The next thing I knew, I was being thrown up against the wall and then someone hit me upside the head." Simon tried to scratch his head, but his fingers only hit bandage. He dropped his hand into his lap. "Then I woke up here. They told me I got twenty-six stitches. I hope it makes a rockin' scar. Girls like scars, right?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "Because you're injured I'll answer that instead of smacking you and calling you an idiot. Yes, Simon, sometimes girls like scars—but only if they're in a cool spot." She studied his injury. "Yours will probably be hidden by your hair."

"Damn." Simon crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout. "Figures I couldn't even get something worthwhile out of this whole ordeal." He laid back, closed his eyes for a moment, and then turned his face toward her. Clary studied him and lay her head down on the pillow next to his, their noses only a few inches apart.

She reached up and carefully ran her fingers over the bandage. "Does it hurt?"

"Oh, only when I move my head or breathe. But who needs to do that, right?"

Clary wanted to smile, but couldn't. The lump in her throat grew larger with every passing second. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Simon frowned. "What are you sorry about? Unless you were the one who smashed a very large, very heavy vase over my head, you have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yeah, but it's because of me that—"

He reached up and touched his finger to her lips. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "I'm only going to say this once, so you listen good, Clary. I don't want to hear another thing about it ever again. This was not your fault. You can't control what other people do."

"But—"

"Not another word," he warned.

Clary drew in a breath and nodded, though she knew he was wrong. How could he absolve her of the blame here? Who else's fault could it be? All of this was happening because of her. She may not have known why, or who was doing it. But that didn't make the fact that she was their target any less real.

Simon studied her carefully, his dark eyes moved from one of hers to the other. Clary knew he was trying to read her, and she was trying her hardest not to let him. There were just some things Simon didn't need to know. Things Simon didn't _want _to know.

In an effort to throw him off, Clary stared back at him. She took in his features, from the wide set of his dark eyes, to the marginally crooked position of his nose, to his slightly too small mouth. She'd always thought he was beautiful—in his own Simon kind of way. Not in the way Jace was. Looking at him didn't make her heart beat out of control or her stomach clench whenever he drew near. He didn't make her face flush or her legs tremble. Her body didn't practically combust every time he touched her or spoke her name. But Simon had a delicateness about him that Clary couldn't explain, something that made him beautiful . . . and made him hers. No matter what happened in their lives or whom they might end up with, he would always be hers. Her Simon. And she would always be his Clary.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked. "Because I don't know what I'd do if—" Her voice caught and she closed her eyes, trying to rein in her emotions.

When she opened her eyes, Simon was still staring at her. "Come here," he said softly and scooted over in the bed.

Clary climbed up onto the mattress and snuggled into him, pressing her face into his chest and throwing her arm over his back.

Simon sighed and pulled her closer, his breath hot in her hair. She had just closed her eyes when he spoke, "Geez, I'm the one who gets clobbered and I have to comfort you. This is a raw deal."

"Shut up, or I'm going to go get Rebecca."

He pulled back slightly. "You wouldn't."

"Do you really want to test me on that?"

"Kinda. I mean, on one hand, I can see you doing it just to spite me. But on the other, I don't think you'd want me to be in any more pain than I already am."

"Simon?" Clary asked, a small smile pursing her lips. He was still the same old annoying Simon.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"Shut up."

.o.O.o.

Jace pulled up to the building just as the last squad car turned onto the street and sped away. He parked in his normal spot in the alley and jogged inside, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor, nearly running into Alec when he rounded the corner.

"Well?" Jace asked.

"Well, nothing," Alec said. "It didn't look like they found anything in the apartment. Whoever this is knows how to leave a crime scene clean of any trace of himself."

Jace reached up and ran a hand through his hair. "So, what now."

"I was thinking about checking out the exits." Alec eyed him carefully. "The police are convinced the perp walked in and just walked out again. But with the amount of blood—"

"Blood?" Jace asked.

"Yeah, head wounds bleed a lot so there's quite a bit."

Jace let out a slow breath and gestured for Alec to continue, trying not to let his mind wander back to Clary and what she might be encountering at the hospital. If he was going to be any help to her at all, he needed to focus, not worry about what she might be feeling.

"Anyway, I was saying, with the amount of blood present at the scene, I just can't imagine the guy walking out the front door. But what do I know?"

Jace shook his head. "No, you're right. So, did they check the basement and roof exits?"

"Probably, but you know how they are."

"Very true." Jace glanced toward the back staircase. "Why don't you check the basement and I'll check the roof?"

"All right. Meet you back here?"

Jace nodded and both boys started toward the staircase. Alec pulled against the handle and took the stairs down and Jace went up. He searched each and every step along the way, not wanting to miss a thing. Once he reached the top, he exited out onto the roof. The air felt colder and the gusts stronger up there. Jace pulled his jacket together and zipped it up. He glanced around the rooftop, looking for the fire escape. He spotted it, near the back left corner. The curved metal handles stuck up and wrapped over the lip of the roof. Walking slowly, his eyes swept over the ground, looking for anything that might appear out of place.

Various items littered the rooftop: cigarette butts, candy wrappings, and even the broken heel of a shoe, but nothing that seemed to be of any significance. After a few minutes of slowly searching the area, Jace came to the ledge and peered over the edge. The rickety metal staircase trailed down the side the building, small landings situated at every floor. With a deep breath, Jace grabbed the handles and threw his leg over the side. Just as he started climbing down, a sharp piece of metal protruding from the side, snagged at his jeans. He stopped. Pulling away slowly, he moved down until he was eye level with the object. It was positioned in such a way that if you didn't know it was there, it would have been nearly impossible to avoid.

Jace studied it closely for any piece of fiber or blood that might be present. Unfortunately, he found nothing. He frowned and lowered his face to move down to the next rung, when his eyes caught sight of something glinting near the bottom of the ladder. Jace furrowed his brows and quickly descended the steps. His feet clanged loudly along the metal.

When he reached the base, he knelt to take a closer look. In the dull light of a nearby streetlamp, Jace could just make out the long, silver, needle-shaped object lying behind the leg of the ladder. Reaching into his pocket, Jace pulled out his gloves and slipped them over his hands. If this had in fact come from whoever broke into Clary's apartment, he didn't want his own fingerprints compromising the evidence. Very carefully, Jace closed his fingers around the object and brought it up to his face to examine it. His breath caught in his chest as his eyes took in the familiar shape.

"Damn it," he swore under his breath and glanced back up to the roof. Holding the object securely in his hand, he climbed quickly up the ladder. He had just thrown one leg over the side when Alec burst through the door and exited onto the roof.

"The basement door was padlocked. No way anyone could get out that way."

Jace slung his other leg over the edge and started toward Alec, shaking his head. "The guy left this way."

Alec met him in the middle. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I found this on the fire escape." He held out his palm. Lying in the middle of his gloved hand was the silver object.

Alec leaned over to examine it, and his brows rose in surprise. He looked up, his blue eyes meeting Jace's. "A lock pick?"

"Recognize the insignia?" Jace pointed to the small emblem near the bottom of the handle.

Alec narrowed his eyes and sucked in a breath. "Well, at least now we know how he's been getting around undetected."

Jace nodded and glanced back down at the pick, studying the crest that was an exact replica of the one that marked his own and Alec's lock pick sets. "We're not dealing with an amateur. We're dealing with another Agent."

.o.O.o.

The door to Simon's room clicked shut behind Clary. She leaned up against it, closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. Her body trembled and her eyes still stung with unshed tears. Even though she knew he was okay, that he was going to be okay, that knowledge didn't rid her of the overwhelming fear Jace's words had caused to rise up inside her. Just knowing what could have happened, was enough to make Clary want to crumple into a ball and cry.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Clary held it until the feeling subsided. She would not lose it, especially not here where anyone could see. Slowly, she made her way through the busy hallways. She didn't want to leave Simon there alone, but the nurse had come in and told her visiting hours were over. No amount of begging and pleading had made her let Clary stay. Simon assured her he'd be fine. So, reluctantly, Clary agreed to leave.

The first thing she saw when she exited into the waiting room was Isabelle's sleeping form curled up in one of the chairs near the back corner. A small smile pulled at Clary's lips as she made her way over. Carefully, she reached down and laid her hand on Isabelle's shoulder, shaking her lightly. With a jolt, Isabelle sprang up in her seat, her dark eyes wide and dark strands of hair sticking to her cheek.

"How is he? Is everything okay?" she asked in a rush.

"He's fine," Clary answered. "He has a pretty nasty bump to the head and needed some stitches so they're keeping him overnight for observation. But so far, it looks like he's going to be okay."

Isabelle let out a slow breath and stretched her arms over her head. "Good. Are we staying?"

Clary glanced at her in surprise. "Uh, no, his mom and sister are sleeping here. They promised they'd call if anything happened."

"Oh," Isabelle yawned.

"Where's Jace?" Clary asked, glancing around the waiting room but seeing no sign of him.

"He went back to help Alec with the police." She glanced up, her eyes moving over Clary's face curiously. "He thought maybe you'd need the time with Simon, and figured his help would be better used elsewhere."

Clary bit her lip and lowered her gaze. "Oh."

Isabelle reached out and touched Clary's arm. "Are you all right?"

"No. Not even a little bit, but I need to go home and deal with this."

"Clary, I don't know if that's—"

Clary pulled her arm away. "I need to see." She couldn't explain her irrational need to view the chaos that had happened in her apartment. From what Simon had told her, it wouldn't be pretty. But it was there, nagging at her, telling her to go. She needed to put the pieces together in her mind and figure out just what it was this intruder wanted. Seeing the damage he caused might help her do that.

Isabelle sighed and stood. "All right. Let's go."

.o.O.o.

Clary stood frozen in front of the door to the apartment. Yellow crime scene tape criss-crossed the entrance, held in place by strips of adhesive stuck to the frame. A shiver slid down her spine. Isabelle placed her hand on Clary's shoulder, but she shook it off. She didn't want anyone touching her. The emotions raging inside her were barely contained and she didn't think she could continue to keep them at bay if anyone touched her. For once, she was thankful Jace wasn't there.

"The police are done. We can go in now," Isabelle said quietly.

Clary sucked in a deep breath and reached out, her hand closing carefully around the cool knob. Closing her eyes, she twisted until the crack of the door opening echoed throughout the empty hallway. Clary ducked under the tape and stepped over the threshold, stopping again just inside.

Shards of glass lay scattered across the entryway. Some of it shined in reflective silver and the rest was clear and thick. Clary's gaze slid over the gaping hole in the frame hanging on the wall where a mirror used to be. A few jagged pieces still dangled from the top edge. The small table where she kept her purse had toppled over and laid half in front of the door.

More tape cordoned off the area and up near the top, a dark, blackish stain spread over the ground in an oddly shaped circle. Clary sucked in a breath and felt all the heat drain from her face. Blood. Simon's blood. Her best friend had lay there for who knows how long before the others returned.

Nausea rose in her stomach and she sprinted around the mess to the kitchen, just reaching the sink before she retched into it. She gagged and heaved, but nothing came up. Tears streamed down her face as her gut clenched over and over again. When she felt like maybe she was done, she slid down the front of the cabinet and rested her head against the cool wood. Isabelle leaned over her, wet a rag, and knelt down, placing it over Clary's forehead and wiping away the sweat that had formed on her brow.

"He's okay, Clary. You saw him and the doctors said he'd be fine." She handed Clary a glass of water.

Clary grabbed the glass and took a few tentative sips just in case her stomach decided it was going to stage a revolt. "I know, but he might not have been. And . . . and it would have been all my fault."

"No." Isabelle shook her head and continued to wipe Clary's face. "You can't think that way. It's not your—"

Clary pushed the rag out of her face and stood. Her head spun with the movement, but she didn't care. She didn't want to hear how this wasn't her fault. How the fact that her best friend now had twenty-six stitches in his head wasn't all because of her. None of them could deny it. They all knew. Whatever this person was after had everything to do with her. Clary wasn't going to let them try to let her off whatever blame she needed to bear. "Don't say it, Isabelle."

"Clary—"

"No!" Clary shouted. "You don't get to tell me it's not my fault. You don't get to lessen the guilt I feel. He's my best friend. The only person I have ever been able to count on no matter what in my entire life. I owe it to him to own up to this."

"But Clary—"

"No!" she screamed, and turned on her heel, sprinting as fast as she could toward her room. Her door had been sealed with crime scene tape as well, but she thrust her hand through the yellow strips, ripping them away from the frame with a violent jerking motion. Once she had them clear, she twisted the knob and threw herself inside, slamming the door behind her. Her back hit the wood, and she felt herself wanting to breakdown.

Clary closed her eyes and shook herself against the nearly overwhelming feeling, forcing it back down into the black hole inside of her. She would not let herself feel pity for her situation. She was strong and she would stay strong. Simon needed her to, and she could do it for him. She would.

Opening her eyes, Clary took in the destruction of her room. Books and papers lay scattered on almost every surface. Her dresser had been torn open, every drawer dumped and then tossed aside. The closet door hung ajar, piles upon piles of clothing littering the floor. Every box she hadn't yet unpacked had been upended and the contents scattered everywhere. The covers from her bed were ripped off and a big gash had been cut down the center of the mattress which lay cockeyed on the frame. Each photo she'd hung on the wall had been taken down and smashed.

Stepping over the shattered remains of her art awards, Clary bent and reached down to an object on the floor. Her fingers grazed the wooden edges and gingerly lifted the broken frame into her hand. Pieces of busted glass slid from the face and fell to the ground, the carpet deadening the sound. Flipping it over, Clary's breath caught in her throat as her eyes moved over the only family photo she had. The exact one her father had in his office and the same that sat nestled inside her locket. A large scratch ran horizontally across the center.

Clary felt anger building up inside her once more when realization hit her like a punch to the gut. She stood abruptly and flew across the floor into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet hung open, its contents littering the tile below.

Clary fell to her knees and started to paw through the pills and bottles, cutting her fingers on the few pieces of broken glass sprinkled throughout.

"No," she muttered to herself, her voice breathy and frantic. "Please, no." She continued to search, her own blood mixing with the cough syrup staining the white flooring red. Her hands started to shake, not with pain from her cuts, but from the realization that it wasn't there. "No. No, no, no, NO!" She slammed her fist into the mess, pain shooting into her hand and up her arm.

Clary lifted her face to the ceiling and an angered growl erupted from her chest. She no longer had control over her emotions, over her rage. She stood to her feet, and caught a glimpse of her face in the half open medicine cabinet mirror. Her hair hung in ratty curls around her face, and her green eyes were wide and bright against pale skin. Flames grew under her flesh, coloring her cheeks a brilliant red.

Finally, she couldn't stand the sight of herself any longer. Reaching behind her, she grabbed the bottle of shampoo from the edge of the tub and hurled it toward the mirror. "Why?" she cried out as it smashed into the middle, shampoo exploding out a split in the side as spider-webbing cracks raced through the glass until it shattered into a million tiny pieces. The shards dropped to the ground in a rain of glass. "Why can't you just leave me alone? Why that? Why did you have to take that?"

Not quite feeling satiated yet, she grabbed the next closest thing—a porcelain figurine her father had brought her from Paris—and chucked it at the wall as well. The release and destruction felt so good she kept absently grabbing whatever she could get her hands on and throwing it against the wall, while venting her frustration verbally. Her possessions flew from her hands, shattering and falling around her. The sound of the breaking glass was as loud and incessant as her screaming.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she knew this really didn't help anything, but it sure felt good. The more she threw, the more she destroyed, the more in control she felt. It seemed odd and twisted to see it that way, but she did.

Clary drew her arm back to throw one last object when she felt a hand close around her wrist. She tried to jerk away and screamed, "No! Just leave me alone!"

"Stop, Clary. Stop," Jace spoke in her ear.

She clenched her eyes shut and drew in a trembling breath at the sound of his voice. It had an immediate calming effect, but she didn't want to feel calm. Not yet. She wanted to feel angry. Shaking her head violently, she tried to wrench her arm away from him. "No. I can't. Just . . . let go!"

Jace wrestled the last object from her hand, letting it fall to the floor at their feet and pulled her into his chest, his arms wrapping around her and his breath at her ear. "Please, stop."

Clary felt the anger drain from her body, only to be replaced by heavy grief and regret. Her body shook and sagged against him. He raised one hand to wipe the damp hair from her forehead.

"That's it, _nena_," Jace said, tucking a few loose curls behind her ear. "It's going to be all right."

Another flare of anger shot through her, and Clary jerked herself out of his arms, turning on him. He stood just in front of her, his eyes glued to hers and filled with some emotion she wasn't used to seeing from him. Her heart sputtered in her chest, but she couldn't let it win. She couldn't fold yet.

"All right?" She narrowed her eyes and took a step back. "All right? How can you say that?"

"Clary—" Jace reached out to her.

Clary shook her head and held her hands out in front of her, not wanting him to touch her. She couldn't think straight when he touched her. "No, Jace. It's not going to be all right. Not until whoever this is, is caught."

Jace took a step toward her and Clary thrust her hand out once more.

"Please," she whispered. "Please don't touch me."

Jace dropped his hands and furrowed his brow. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why am I doing what?"

"This?" He gestured to the mess in the bathroom. "To punish yourself even more for something that's not your fault?"

"It _is_ my fault! If it weren't for me, Simon wouldn't be in the hospital right now with stitches in his head!"

Jace glared at her incredulously. "I fail to see how you justify blaming yourself for this. You didn't _do_ anything, Clary."

"It doesn't matter." Clary shook her head. "He came here for me—or for whatever he wanted from me, and Simon got in the way."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh, yes. Calling me stupid is making me feel tons better, Jace."

Jace let out a breathy laugh, and ignoring her protests, stepped forward to take her face into his hands. "I'm not calling you stupid. I'm telling you that what you're saying is stupid."

She pushed against him, trying to get him to release her. "Let me go."

"No," he said.

"Damn it, Jace! Just—"Clary wrapped her hands around his wrists and pried them away from her face. He let her, but proceeded to grab her waist and pull her up against him instead. His heat and scent washed over her, threatening to break through her wall of pain and guilt. Clary fought against it, against him. Her hands pushed at his chest, and when he wouldn't budge, she resorted to pounding on it with her fists. Nothing she did made him loosen his grip, and only made him hold her closer.

"When are you going to accept the fact that I'm not letting you go?" he asked, his breath warming the hair on top of her head. "I can't let you go."

"Why?" Clary said into his chest, her will to fight against him leaving her almost as quickly as it came. It felt good and safe there in his arms. "Why is this happening? What do they want from me?"

"I don't know."

"They hurt my friend. They could've—" Clary closed her eyes. Her throat tightened and she felt the telltale signs of tears forming behind her lids. She fought against it, willing herself not to cry in front of Jace. She needed to get him away from her before she lost it completely. "Please," she whispered. "Please just let me go."

"Clary—"

"Let go, Jace! Let go!" With her last bit of energy, she shoved against Jace's chest hard, his grip breaking free. Clary stumbled back, almost slipping on the wet mess in the middle of the floor. She held her hands out in front of her to warn Jace away, and noticed they were shaking. "Please, go. Just go." Clary backed up a little more until she hit the wall behind her. Her legs started to tremble and she knew at any moment she would collapse. "I—I don't want—I don't want you to . . ." She looked up, her eyes already clouded with tears. One slipped down her cheek, but she felt a hundred more ready to fall. "I don't want you to see me cry."

Jace drew in a breath and shook his head. Clary closed her eyes and heard him move across the room, the broken glass crunching under his feet. She felt him before he touched her, but when he did, when his warm hands wrapped gently around her face and his lips brushed her forehead, she couldn't help the swell of tears that spilled from her eyes.

"Then I won't look," he whispered. "But let me stay. Let me help you. Let me . . ." He paused and let out a slow breath. "Just _let_ me."

Unable to fight it anymore—to fight _him_—Clary gave in, her body collapsing into his. Her forehead rested against his chest and her hands fisted into his shirt as the emotion she'd been holding back rippled through her body. Jace's arms went around her, one stretched across her back, holding her shaking form to him, while the other threaded into her hair. Tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto his shirt.

Her knees gave out beneath her, but Jace didn't let her fall. Instead, he scooped her up and hugged her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. Clary felt him move through her bedroom and out to the living room, but she didn't lift her head, she didn't want to see, she couldn't handle seeing anymore.

The tinkling of broken glass being swept across the floor reached her ears and Clary tightened her grip around Jace's neck. She clenched her eyes shut and tried to block the sound from her mind.

"I'm going to take her upstairs," Jace said, and Clary could feel the calming vibrations of his voice against her side. "She shouldn't be here for this."

"Okay," Isabelle said. A warm hand settled in the middle of Clary's back, and Isabelle's voice spoke softly. "Alec and I can handle it."

Jace didn't say another word and Clary didn't look up. She just left her face buried in his skin, his warmth and scent washing over her and making her forget. Just for the moment, she would allow herself to forget. She was vaguely aware of Jace leaving the apartment and climbing the stairs, but for the most part, she'd allowed herself to become lost in him. It was easier there. She didn't have to think or feel anymore when she was in his arms. Before long, she felt Jace stop and lower her onto something soft. A bed. His bed.

Finally, Clary opened her eyes. Jace leaned over her, his gaze filled with concern and fixed on her face. She drew in a breath, willing the stupid tears away, but they spilled over her cheeks anyway. Jace reached out and swiped them away with his thumb.

Clary grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "They took my mother's locket." She met Jace's gaze. "The only thing I had left of her and the only possession in that whole damn apartment that meant anything to me, they took."

Jace let out a slow breath and closed his eyes briefly. "I don't know what to do here, Clary," he said, his voice unsteady and his face fixed into an expression that was so vulnerable, so frightened, like a little boy faced with a situation he had no idea how to react to.

Clary looked up at him and tried hard to contain the feelings swelling up inside her. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked against them. His brows lifted slightly and a look of panic crossed his face.

"What do you need?" he asked.

Clary let her gaze move over his face, and her hand followed. Her fingers trailed lightly over his cheek. The warmth of his flesh under her skin created an anesthetic to the pain. "You," she said. "I just need you." Lowering her hand to his, she pulled him into her.

Jace slowly lowered himself to the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight and causing Clary to roll into him. She curled her body into his, splaying her hand over his side. His heart beat strong and hard under her palm. Closing her eyes, Clary realized she'd already lain in this position with another boy that night, but it hadn't felt like this. With Simon, Clary felt at home, and reassured. She'd needed to know he was okay, and being in his arms had told her that. But with Jace, it was so much more complicated and visceral. It wasn't just about comfort and warmth. She felt a powerful, instinctual want that vibrated from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Every part of her craved every part of him. She needed to feel him wrapped around her, taking her for himself, claiming her, and allowing her to lose herself in him. And at the same time, in his embrace, she felt protected, safe.

Her eyes locked on his and she moved in closer, pressing their mouths together. Jace reached over and laid his palm gently across her cheek, his long fingers extending over her flesh and into her hair. His touch was soft, tender, reserved.

Clary let out an unsteady breath and closed her eyes. "Hold me," she whispered against his lips. "Just hold me, please."

Jace didn't hesitate and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her body flush against his. Clary buried her face in his chest once more and breathed in the intoxicating scent of him. This was where she needed to be, right there, with him. Jace's grip tightened as she fisted her hands into his shirt. His pulse thrummed against her cheek, and his presence overwhelmed her. Clary felt the leftover worry and grief closing in around her and couldn't hold back any longer. It rose and rose until it completely overtook her. There, in the quiet darkness, held securely in the arms of this boy, she allowed her guard to drop and let the tears fall once again, her angst soaking the front of his shirt and disappearing into the space between them.

* * *

_For those who may have forgotten, _nena_ is Spanish for 'baby'. ;)_

_Well, we've had 2 weeks of this wonderfully sweet, caring Jace. I think perhaps it's time for a little douche—sexy, irresistible douche. ;)_

_To my awesomesauce beta, LLWB, you rock as always. I *heart* you. *smooches*_

_And also, thanks to my goddess of music rec's, niniadepapa, for 3 out of the 4 songs used for this week's update. *muah*._

_Until next week,_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	16. Illusion of Control

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**15. Illusion of Control**

_**WARNING: This chapter contains M rated material of the citrus variety._

_Foreign language translations are at the bottom this time. I figured the Spanish you might be able to figure out on your own—it's not much. The Italian…well, I didn't want to draw away from the sexiness of the words themselves, so I left the translations out of the text. It was another—'Does it really matter what he's saying? HELLO! He's speaking Italian!' moment. ;)_

_Chapter songs: _

_**Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Greenday_

_**The Scientist – Coldplay_

_**Addicted – Saving Abel_

_**Teenage Dream – Katy Perry_

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Left, left, right. Left, left, right. Jace bounced on his toes and stretched his neck from side to side as he kept up the rhythm with the punching bag. Left, left, right. Jab, jab, undercut.

The tape over his knuckles had begun to split and his hands ached, but he wasn't through yet. His body felt wound as tight as a wire about to snap and he needed a way to expel the aggression building to a crescendo inside him. He tried working out with the gloves on first, but found that he needed the pain, the distraction, to make the workout worthwhile.

Jab, jab, undercut. Left, left, right. Undercut, undercut, jab. Each hit, each punch, sent a shock of pain up his arm, but damn if it didn't feel good.

"Jesus, man. What the hell has you so worked up?" Sebastian asked as he stumbled back from the force of Jace's hit. He positioned his hands higher on the bag and moved to steady himself better.

"I didn't ask you here to talk." Jace thrust his fist forward again, the bag holding steadier with Sebastian's new position. "I needed someone to punch, and I figured you'd work."

"Touchy," Sebastian said. "Is it a chick? It must be a chick—then again, I've never seen you give a flying rat's ass about a girl before, so . . ."

"I said I don't want to talk and I meant it. What is it with you and Alec and all your touchy feely girly talk?"

Sweat rolled off Jace's brow and down his temple, dripping from his chin to the floor below. His breath came in heavy pants and his muscles burned with exertion, his skin slick and wet. The exercise felt good. He needed some kind of release after the night he'd had.

Watching Clary break down, and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it, had sucked worse than anything he could remember. Hours passed as her tiny body trembled in his arms. No amount of words or caresses calmed her. Only the tears she shed onto his shirt seemed to help at all. Holding a girl while she cried was a new experience for Jace—and he decided he did not like it at all. Not because he felt he was above being there for her, but because it made him feel useless and helpless. He couldn't make her better.

Jace continued to hit harder and harder until the tape had completely snapped and he could feel the rough surface of the bag scrape against his skin. After the last hit, an uppercut with his dominant left hand, a red smear streaked across the surface.

"Damn it," he said to himself, shaking his hand and wiping the blood from his split knuckle onto the front of his black wife beater.

Sebastian let go of the bag and stepped up to Jace, taking his hand to study the cut. Jace wrenched it away and scowled.

"Do you know what your problem is?" Sebastian asked.

Jace moved back to sit on the bench situated behind the bag and next to the wall. He lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow. "If I said yes, would you spare me your theories?" Leaning down, he picked up his sports bottle and squirted water into his mouth. The cool liquid coated his throat and quenched his thirst.

Ignoring Jace's sarcastic remark, Sebastian said, "You need to get laid."

Jace choked. "What?" He looked at Sebastian, raising his hand and swiping the back of it over his mouth.

"I'm just saying." Sebastian shrugged. "You're all tense and moody. Usually when you get like this, we just go out and find you a nice piece, then you're all mellow again. Problem solved." He smiled. "So what do you say? Want to hit the club tonight?"

"That's not what this is about." Jace rose from the bench and walked over to the medical supply cabinet. Pulling out the bandages, he fastened one to his split knuckle then proceeded to wrap more tape around his hand.

"Ohhh." Sebastian appeared beside Jace, his brow raised and his mouth pulled into a smirk. "What aren't you telling me? Who is she? Or they . . . who are they?"

"Is your life so pathetic that you have to get your thrill through mine?"

"Yes," Sebastian said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now spill."

"Nothing to spill." Jace gathered the trash from his quick wound fix and tossed it in the can next to the door. "Why are you so interested anyway? I didn't realize the status of my sex-life mattered so much to you."

"I'm not. It's just . . . something's got you all tied up. I just figured it had to be a girl."

"Well, you figured wrong." Jace moved to the weight bench in the opposite corner and lay down on his back. He needed something more to ease his agitation. The punching bag helped some, but not enough. "So, are we just going to chit-chat like women, or are we going to work out?"

Sebastian shrugged and stepped up behind Jace, acting as spotter while he lifted. "I still think we should go to the club. Whether or not an absence of sexual gratification is your problem, it never hurts to get some."

Not bothering to answer, Jace rolled his eyes and placed his hands on the bar, positioning them just right along the grip. Wrapping his fingers around the cool steel, he pushed, the sound of metal scraping against metal reverberating throughout the space. Jace lowered the weights to his chest and pushed up again, releasing a breath as he extended his arms. He repeated the motion again and again. His muscles burned and his arms shook, but still he continued.

Even with his efforts to keep his thoughts and body occupied, images from the previous night bombarded his mind. Jace could still feel Clary's trembling form curled up against him. The way her hands fisted into his shirt, her tears soaking the material and causing it to stick to his skin. And how, after awhile, the crying slowed and her lips found purchase against the base of his throat. Soft, tentative, warm. Kisses, so small and light, Jace could barely feel them.

Her hands let loose from their hold on his shirt and slid up over his side, carefully, slowly. Jace's entire body tensed, wanting more, needing more, needing her. But his subconscious warned him this wasn't right. Clary was in pain. She was sad, troubled, and it wouldn't be right of him to take from her when she was this vulnerable—no matter if it was her who initiated. Jace's mind told him this, but his body, his heart, told him different.

As Clary's fingers inched their way down and her lips worked their way up, Jace could do little more than lie there, his breath catching with every nip of her teeth against his flesh. He wanted her so badly; he could feel the need pressing on every nerve in his body. Finally, he tipped his head down, finding her mouth and kissing her gently. She was insistent, molding herself into him, biting at his lips, her tongue forcing its way through. Jace could taste the saltiness of her tears on her skin.

He tried to slow things down, but the more he pulled away the more frantic her advances became. It wasn't that he didn't want it, he did, just not when she was so upset. He couldn't exactly pinpoint the reasons why, but somehow it felt wrong.

"Clary," he mumbled weakly, his body protesting his words and her kisses swallowing his voice. "Clary, wait."

She ignored his admittedly pathetic plea and thrust her hands into his hair, pulling him hard against her, their teeth clanking together. Jace found it extremely difficult to resist when she kissed him like that. His body exploded into sensation, fire and ice ripping through him in alternating waves. He knew he needed to stop this, but it was the very last thing he wanted to do.

"Clary," he tried again.

"Please," she whispered, her hands lowering to the hem of his shirt and tugging it up his torso. Her fingers lingered along his flesh and caused his resolve to slip even further.

Jesus, she said "please." How could he say no to, "Please?"

So, he kissed her again.

And again.

And again.

_No, no!_ He told himself.

With every last bit of will-power he could conjure, Jace grabbed her hands and clasped them together between them. Everything inside him called him an ass, an idiot, and screamed at him to just be a God-damned man and take the girl. _She wants you_, it told him. _Take her, you ass_! But he ignored it. This wasn't just about him and his wants anymore. He couldn't, in good conscience, do this right now.

"Clary," he said, and this time, the look in her eyes told him she understood.

She dropped her forehead to his chest and sucked in a shaking breath. After a moment, she nodded and pulled her hands out of his. She didn't say a word, and with a trembling sigh, she turned over and curled into herself on the opposite side of the bed.

"Herondale!"

Jace snapped out of his thoughts, shoved one last time against the bar, and placed it back on the holders. He sat up and wiped his arm across his forehead. "What?"

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Sebastian looked at him, his eyes wide and brows raised in incredulity. "I swear you did three sets with no break. Are you crazy?"

"I did not do that many. That's impossible." Jace stood, the burn in his arms finally registering in his mind. He did kind of feel like he'd gone overboard.

"I thought so too—until I just watched you."

Jace shook his head and had the immediate urge to get out of there. He couldn't seem to keep his mind off from Clary or the night before. "I've got to go," he said, and moved across the room to gather his bag.

"Go? But you just got here, and I haven't had the chance to work out yet."

"I—I can't right now, Sebastian." Jace turned and started toward the door.

"Jace!" Sebastian called, but Jace ignored him.

The cold air hit him as soon as he exited onto the sidewalk. He didn't bother to put on his jacket and continued up the street. A shiver shook his body and goosebumps rippled over his skin, but he needed the shock to help him focus.

In the darkness of that room, he'd thought he was doing the right thing. Thought he'd been showing her that she was more to him than a good lay. But when she'd turned away, and her body began to shake with quiet sobs, he wondered if he'd been wrong.

God, he hated being so clueless. Part of him wished he could go back to the way he was. Back before he cared about anyone's feelings but his own. He never had to guess or wonder. It didn't matter. He could date whom he wanted, sleep with whom he wanted, and then brush them off without another thought. It was easier that way, simpler.

Jace turned the corner and his apartment building came into view, three stories of faded red brick looming ahead. A prickling sensation traveled from his head to his toes. He was nervous, actually nervous, to face her. Slowly, he made his way to the front doors, where he stopped, rubbed his hands over his face, and let out a slow breath. She had to be mad; he knew she had to be. Of all the things for him to say no to, he never thought it would be sex. But he couldn't, he just . . . couldn't.

That morning, before the sun had broken the horizon, he'd carefully lifted himself from the bed, his eyes falling on her the moment he did. She lay, still in the fetal position, on the opposite side of the mattress, her hair splayed across the white sheets and her hands tucked under her cheeks. Pink splotches, and lines of dried tears, covered her face.

Jace stood by like a coward, helpless and frightened of what she might say. In an effort to postpone the inevitable, he'd bolted. He'd left and gone to the gym, hoping the endorphins would help him think more clearly about what had happened between them. Why had he stopped her? She'd obviously needed it, so why had it felt so wrong to him?

As he stood there once again, he had no more answers than he'd had that morning. He still didn't know what to say. Did she think he'd rejected her? Because that wasn't what he'd meant at all. And if she did think that, how could he convince her that wasn't it?

Jace shook his head again at the thought. "Quit being such a jackass," he said to himself. He would deal with this the way he'd always dealt with situations such as these. He'd pretend he wasn't affected. It was an ass move—he could admit, but he didn't know what else to do. As he reached out to open the door to the building, he let the mask slip back into place and moved himself inside.

The stairs stretched out long and steep before him. He ignored the twinge of guilt pulling at his conscience and made his way up quickly. He didn't even pause to think when he reached his apartment and shoved the key in the lock. The door opened with a quiet groan, and as hard as he tried not to let it, his heart stuttered to a stop at the sight of her.

Clary sat on the couch across the room, her knees pulled up to her chest and a sketchbook balanced on top. White wires dangled from the ear buds in her ears and her head bobbed lightly to the music. She didn't notice him as he stepped inside the apartment.

With a click, the door shut behind him, and Jace leaned up against it. Sunlight from the large picture window filtered through the curtains and danced across her hair. The color glowed in various shades of red and orange. Clary's hand moved smoothly over the page, the quiet scratching noise of the lead against paper reached his ears all the way across the room. Her expression was one of concentration, but also of peace. Not a shred of the anguish it had worn the night before was visible now.

Jace wanted to stand there and watch her, to soak in the calm and serenity of the moment, because he knew once she saw him, the look she had now would be gone. Suddenly, her face turned in his direction, her eyes widening slightly when she spotted him. She reached up and drew one of the ear buds from her ears.

"Hey," she said, lowering her sketchpad to the cushion next to her.

"Hey," Jace said, making sure his voice stayed neutral. "How are you?"

Clary sighed and stood. "Better. I just talked to Simon. They're releasing him this afternoon and he's going home with his mom for a few days."

"That's good," he said, his brow raising as he took in her attire. She was dressed in one of his T-shirts—only his t-shirt. The sleeves went to her elbows and the bottom almost touched her knees. She glanced down, her cheeks reddening with the action.

"I borrowed a shirt." She looked up. "I hope that's okay. I felt gross in my clothes, and—well, I didn't want to go back downstairs."

Jace swallowed and fought with his body not to react to the sight of her in his clothing—though that was certainly a losing battle. "It's fine," he said, forcing himself to leave the doorway and walked into the living room. "Use what you want. _Lo mío es tuyo._" He moved into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Clary followed him and leaned her shoulder against the door frame. He turned toward her and asked, "Where are Alec and Isabelle?"

"School," she said, eying him carefully.

"Oh, right." Jace took another sip and averted his eyes from her. He felt a tightening in his chest from the way she looked at him. God, did she have to _look_ at him?

"Jace, about last night—"

Before she could say another word, Jace started toward the doorway. "Is this going to take awhile? Because if it is, I'd like to shower first. I've been at the gym all morning and I'm certain I can't smell that great." He pushed past her and started down the hall toward the bathroom.

"Oh, I see. So, this is how it is, huh?"

Jace walked into the room and leaned over the tub, turning the faucet on full blast before facing Clary again. "How what is?" He reached back and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it into the basket in the corner.

Clary crossed her arms over her chest, not even bothering to check him out. "You're going to put the mask back on, just because I cried a little?"

Jace laughed and pulled the lever to turn on the shower. The spray hit the tiles on the back wall. "First of all, that was not what I'd call 'a little,' and second of all, that has nothing to do with anything."

"Then what is it—" Her eyes widened and her mouth formed into a little o. "Oh, Jace . . . I didn't mean to make it seem like I wanted—"

"Seem? There was no _seeming_ about it. It was pretty obvious what you wanted." Jace smirked, though he was pretty sure it didn't reach his eyes. He felt the tightness in his chest squeeze a little more.

Clary closed her eyes and blew out a slow breath. Steam wafted out of the shower and fogged the mirror over the sink. "I thought you might be upset when I found you gone this morning."

"I am _not_ upset about that." Jace kicked off his shoes, pulled off his socks, and then his shorts. Turning around, in nothing but his boxer briefs, he thrust his fingers under the spray and tested the water. It was hot, just like he liked it.

"You're certainly mad about something." Clary crossed her arms over her chest.

"I'm not mad about anything."

"Stop being an ass."

"If you don't like asses, baby, you'd better turn around because you're about to see one." With that, he pulled down his boxers, threw them with the rest of his clothes, and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain shut hard behind him. Once he was shielded behind the blue and gold fabric, he closed his eyes, letting the hot water wash over his head. Reaching up, he laid his palm against the cool tile. The spray pelted into him and fell over his face in streams. He was being an ass, he knew he was, but he just didn't know how else to be.

The screeching sound of metal on metal and a blast of cold forced him to open his eyes. Clary stood at the tub's edge, her hand fisted in the curtain and a scowl fixed to her face.

"You don't get to do that," she said.

"What? Shower? I wasn't aware we were dictating each other's hygiene routine now."

She ignored him. "You don't get to treat me like crap and get away with it. If you're upset over what happened last night, then let's talk about it."

"I'm a little busy right now, Spitfire. So, unless you're going to join me, can we save this little chat for later? It's getting nippy in here."

Clary glared at him and cursed under her breath. Jace watched as a determined glint crossed her eyes and she quickly ripped his shirt from over her head and removed her panties. He raised his brows as she stepped over the tub's side and closed the curtain behind her.

"There, I'm naked. You're naked. We're both naked. Can we talk now?"

Jace swallowed. "Talking is not the first thing that comes to mind when put in this position." He let his eyes travel down her body, noticing how the water ran over her flesh and followed every line perfectly. All of the blood that had once fueled his brain traveled south.

"I'm sorry," she said, drawing his attention back to her face. "I know how that must have seemed, and I promise that's not how I meant it."

His eyes met hers. "Everybody wants sex. It's human nature. Who am I to hold that against you?"

She never removed her stare from his. "But it was wrong of me. I just felt so overwhelmed by everything that had happened and you made me feel so . . . safe. I just wanted to keep that feeling. I just wanted you. I didn't think beyond my own want to see how that might make you feel. You were right to reject me."

Jace brought a hand up to brush the wet hair out of his face, and let out a slow breath. "I wasn't rejecting you."

"What?"

"God, Clary." He let his hand fall to his side. "I wasn't rejecting you. You know I don't know what the hell I'm doing here. I was trying to be sensitive, but I just screwed that the hell up, like usual."

"No, you didn't."

"Don't patronize me, all right? I know I'm an ass."

"You are an ass—a lot of the time," Clary said, and moved closer until she stood directly under the spray with him, her body nearly touching his. She reached out to take his hand, and Jace let her. A surge of want washed over him, and he had to clench his other fist to force himself not to grab her and draw her naked flesh to him. "But last night, you were perfect. You did everything exactly right."

"But I made you cry. When I said stop, I made you cry."

"You didn't make me cry." She reached up, touching a finger to his mouth when he tried to protest, and then let them slide down his lips. "You didn't make me cry," she repeated in a whisper.

Clary finally leaned into him, her forehead resting against his chest. Her hands fell from his face and trailed down his chest to his waist. Every nerve in Jace's body came alive at the feel of her fingers on his skin.

He reached up and cupped her cheeks, lifting until she looked at him. "I was never upset with you, okay? I thought _you_ were mad at _me,_ and I'm too much of a douche to just ask." He bent down and touched his forehead to hers, shielding her from the falling water. "I just . . . I told you before that I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to be . . . this."

"What is _this_?" she asked sincerely.

Jace closed his eyes. "I don't know." When he opened them again, he pulled back to look into hers. "All I know is that I want you. Every second of every day, I think about you and I want you. Beyond that, I don't know anything else."

Clary's answering grin was enough to make his heart stop. "Yeah?" she asked.

"Yeah."

Rising up on tip-toes, Clary's mouth found his. Her kiss was soft and tentative, her wet lips gliding against his. Water streamed down and pounded against the bottom of the tub. Steam billowed up in a cloud around them, sticking to and beading on the plastic inner curtain. Clary's body pressed into him, her skin slippery under his touch. Jace tensed at the feeling, blood pumping faster at the sensations sparking through him.

"I was serious when I said I needed to get clean," Jace said between kisses, his fingers tracing the lines of her neck and over her shoulders. "You're not making that very easy."

Clary smiled against his mouth. "I think I'm making things very easy for you right now."

He let his hands move down her curves, his wet skin sliding against hers. "You're a very naughty girl, _mi fiera pelirroja_."

"I thought you liked naughty, Cass."

He lowered his head and shook it, his lips brushing her collarbone. "I like you. Naughty or nice, it doesn't really matter to me." Jace gathered her up in his arms, pulling her flush against him. Clary felt so warm, so smooth, and fit so perfectly with him.

Her fingers trailed up his arms, and then wrapped around his biceps before moving to his neck. Jace couldn't explain the way it felt to him. Never before had a girl's touch done to him what Clary's did. Every time she laid her hands on him, it was as if she were rediscovering him, like she'd never touched him before. It drove him insane and made him feel incredibly humbled at the same time. Usually, girls just grabbed at him, taking what they wanted and not caring about how they got it. He'd honestly never minded, but Clary was different. It never felt like that with her. Even now, her fingers stayed gentle and soft, until she dug into his flesh, scratching lightly and causing goosebumps to rise on his skin.

A groan crowded into his throat, and without thinking, Jace felt himself pushing Clary backward, his hands clutching at her hips. He wanted to feel every inch of her against him, to have complete dominance over her body. The urge was sudden and unexplained. Jace just needed it.

Clary's back hit the wall and she let out a yelp, lurching forward. Jace caught her before she slipped.

"What's the matter? Did I hurt you?" A modicum of panic seized his chest.

"No," Clary said, shaking her head. "The wall is freezing." She turned slightly and placed her hand flat against the tile.

Relief washed over him as Jace chuckled and moved in behind her, wrapping one arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. With the other hand, he grabbed the shower head and pointed the nozzle toward the wall, letting the hot water flow over it and heating the cold ceramic.

Sweeping her hair to one side, Jace leaned down and placed a kiss to the patch of skin just behind Clary's ear. "Sorry," he whispered.

Clary tilted her head to the side and sighed. Jace's hand fanned across her shoulder, sliding down her arm and around to her stomach. He couldn't get enough of her silky, smooth skin. His fingers curled into the flesh at her hip and pulled her tighter to him. If it were up to him, he'd never stop touching her.

"You feel so good," he murmured as he kissed and sucked a line down her neck. "You taste good too."

Clary reached around and threaded her fingers into his hair. She turned her face toward him and caught his lips with hers as his hands trailed lower, lower, and lower still. Her breath caught when he grazed her inner thigh, and after a moment, her head fell forward, resting against the wall as the shuddering breath left her lips. Jace continued to nip along the top of her back, his hands digging into her waist as he bent slightly at the knee to accommodate for the height difference. He found that if he kissed her lightly, with barely-there swipes of his lips and tongue from her hair line to the base of the back of her neck, she would shiver uncontrollably. Her trembling did indescribably good things to his body.

"Jace," Clary said, his name a whimpering breath. She placed both palms against the wall, her fingers splayed across the tiles.

Jace ran his hands up her arms, entwining his fingers with hers and running his nose along her jaw. "Yeah?"

She squeezed his hands. "I—I need—"

"What do you need?" He sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth. "I'll give it to you. Just tell me what you need."

"I—I need—God—" she stuttered, the desperation in her voice causing Jace to press against her harder. "I need to kiss you. Now. Please?"

Jesus, there it was again. Please. God damned,_ please_. Jace felt his need spiraling to a peak and he spun Clary around, immediately pinning her against the wall with his body. Her breath came out in a whoosh. He didn't even allow her a moment to breathe before his mouth was on hers. Hard and insistent.

A quiet moan escaped her lips at the first swipe of his tongue against hers, the sound spurring Jace on to kiss her harder, deeper, devouring her bit by bit. His hands were everywhere, clutching her hips, fisting her hair, cupping her chest, touching, pulling, needing. He couldn't hold her close enough, couldn't touch her everywhere he wanted at the same time.

Clary wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed herself into him, her fingers tugging at his hair and holding him to her. Jace's thin grasp on his self-control shattered and he reached down, grasping the underside of her knee roughly and hitching her leg over his hip. She kept it there, using her strength to hold him flush against her.

"Jesus, Clary," he said into her mouth, feeling her breath coming hot and fast against his tongue. "You make me crazy." His hand slid up her thigh, gripping her hard as he pulled her closer. "Too crazy."

He wanted her, needed her. Now. The urge was so strong it was almost painful.

Jace dropped his head to Clary's shoulder, trying to force back a little of the more feral feelings washing over him. The last thing he wanted was to act like an animal with her. But the way his body felt at the moment wouldn't allow for anything less than untamed roughness. He breathed in a deep breath and pushed it out again. Water poured over his back, the normally calming heat doing nothing whatsoever to quiet his aching need. In fact, he was pretty sure it made it worse.

Clary let her hands fall from his hair and she pulled his face up to hers. "Are you okay?" Her cheeks were flushed and dark strands of wet hair stuck to her skin. Both of which just made her sexier. Jace felt his stomach clench.

"I'm more than okay. Just a little too worked up. I need to calm down—unless you'd like me to slam you through the wall?"

Clary shook her head and clutched his face tighter. "No."

"That's what I thought."

"No, I meant . . .'" She looked at him, trapping her lower lip between her teeth. "I don't want you to calm down," she whispered. "I want you to lose control. Last time, you held it in. I know you did. This time . . . show me, Cass. Let me see you lose it."

Jace shivered. "God, Clary. Don't say things like that to me." He reached up and grabbed her hands, lacing their fingers together and pinning them against the wall above her head. Her body stretched out before him, every inch of her pressed up against every inch of him. Water flowed between them, the warmth only intensifying the sensation of their slick skin sliding against each other's. "I don't want to be that way with you. You deserve better."

She stared up at him, her green eyes boring into his, so full, so understanding, so . . . seeing. "But I want you. Every part of you. The controlled. The uncontrolled. The gentle." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "The rough. I want it all. Let me have it all, Jace."

He lowered his hands and shook his head, still fighting against the urge to do exactly as she said. It would feel so God-damned good to take her like that. To claim her, to consume her. He could feel the hold on his control slipping away, bit by bit, his body's want overpowering his common sense.

Clary reached up and grabbed his face once more. "Show me. Please."

_Please_. He could never resist when she said, "please." Jace's chest squeezed. All of the pent-up frustration and uncertainty of the night before came to a head, and he could no longer hold it at bay. He leaned in, capturing her mouth forcefully, his restraint nearly gone. "Please don't think less of me for this," he begged.

"Never," she said.

Jace reached down and grabbed her, picking her up and pushing her back into the wall, encasing himself between her thighs. "Wrap your legs around me," he said, his voice rough and uneven.

Clary did as he asked, and then she kissed him, hard. Her tongue insistent as it forced its way into his mouth. She hovered above him, waiting and wanting, just like him. Her fingers curled into his hair, and her open mouth panted against his. The air grew thick with anticipation. Jace could feel it pressing in on him, making it hard to breathe and his muscles clench. Although it hadn't been that long since Jace had been with her, it felt as if it had been forever. He wanted to have her, needed to have her.

Now.

Right now.

Unable to wait another moment, Jace shifted below her, directing her body and pushing her down. She gasped, and suddenly, he was surrounded, heat and softness squeezing him and combining into one utterly amazing sensation. His immediate instinct was to move, and move, and move. And God, did he want to move—hard and fast.

So hard.

So fast.

Jace dug his fingers into her skin and held his breath, forcing himself not to focus on everything he felt, but instead on the girl held enslaved in his arms. In this position, he had complete control over her. The strength and speed were up to him. Every decision was his. She gave him that. He knew already this wasn't going to be slow or gentle, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt her. He needed to make sure she was all right before he did anything more.

"Okay?" he asked, the word strained as he held onto the last shreds of control, his body screaming at him to let go.

Clary dropped her head to his shoulder, her mouth spreading open mouthed kisses down his neck, and dug her heels into his back. Every nerve pulsed and radiated with want. Jace used the wall to help hold her up, but she was so light he really didn't need it.

A drawn out, "Mmhmm," was her reply, and she lifted her head once more.

Jace let out a relieved breath as his hands gripped the back of her thighs tighter. His fingers trembled—not from nerves or fear, but from restraint and expectation. "Hold on, baby," he breathed.

Clary shuddered and wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes focused intently on his. He could see the give behind her stare, the trust. There was no way to describe how it felt for her to surrender so completely to him. The faith. The vulnerability. The pure want and need they had for each other, in some ways, were overwhelming. But in others, felt just right.

Jace teetered on the edge of the uninhibited need he felt for this girl. He knew, with each passing second, he was coming closer and closer to falling into the chasm with no hope for escape. His control dangled over the precipice, but for the first time in his life, he wanted to jump in, to lose himself completely. He didn't care about anything but how it felt to be with her. To be trusted and wanted by her. In that moment, it was all that really mattered—maybe it would be all that mattered for the rest of his life.

Jace had felt for so long that he had no choice. That it wasn't up to him which path his life took. But right then, with Clary's embrace surrounding him and her whispered assurances in his ear, it was Jace's turn to choose, and he chose to let himself fall.

Into her.

Into chaos.

Into life.

Every layer of mask and restraint fell away as he took her body with his own, his hands grasping and lips nipping at her flesh.

Holding her.

Needing her.

Tasting her.

Letting himself give and take in equal measure.

His whole being was content as he let her see him, feel him, have him—all of him. He was literally and metaphorically bare before her. And she accepted him fully, her own hands clutching at him, nails digging into his shoulders as her head dropped back, and her breathing grew less and less even. Jace closed his eyes and shut off his mind, letting his heart, body, and soul have what his brain had been so intent on keeping from him.

Desire.

Passion.

Affection.

All of this, she offered to him, and nothing could keep him from taking it now. He was completely and irreversibly lost to his old ways. To the person who used and abused, never caring what happened after the sun came up in the morning. He was different now, changed. Better.

He was hers.

.o.O.o.

The pounding bass thrummed through the space, each beat exacerbating the nagging headache in the woman's temple. She sat at the end of the bar, pretending to enjoy the watered down soda in front of her. Stirring the skinny red and white straw around and around in the glass, she imagined she could hear the clink of plastic as it hit the sides. Of course, she couldn't hear anything but the music and the throbbing of her pulse as it threatened to burst through her skull. Her eyes darted to the front door, looking through the throng of dancers to see if anyone stood out—if anyone could be him.

A pair of dark eyes met hers from across the room. Was that him? A small smile turned up his lips and he winked. Nope, definitely not.

She shifted in her seat, adjusting the short black skirt she'd decided to wear for the occasion, and smoothing her hands over the matching fitted sweater. This was the first time he'd asked to meet her. To this point, she'd only ever heard his voice. He never outwardly conveyed any emotion, but she could already tell by the tone and length of each syllable whether he was mad, pleased, or indifferent. This plot, this . . . operation, had been in the planning stages for some time now—long before she had ever come along. She knew she was just a means to an end, a way to quickly and effectively move things along.

The ones who'd come before her had tried more drastic measures—even involving murder in the earlier stages. But the woman's plan, the one they'd decided to follow this time, had given them more access than anyone had thought possible. It had been almost too easy. Normally, she'd worry about something like that. Her mother had always used the expression, "too easy to be true," instead of "too good to be true." And this seemed too easy to be true.

Slipping a hand into the pocket of her jacket, which hung on the back of her chair, she closed her fist around the cool, hard locket. Its chain slipped between her fingers and caused her to sigh in contentment. Finally, she'd done it—well, _they'd_ done it, but it wasn't he who'd get the credit on this one. A small smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. The boy had done good, she could give him that. The apartment job? Flawless. From what he'd told her, he'd ransacked the place. If they were lucky, it would take the girl weeks to figure out what was taken, and even then, she wouldn't know the reason.

The incident with the boy was unfortunate, but necessary. He shouldn't have come back. It was never in the plan to hurt anyone, but if the situation called for it . . . She shook her head, trying to clear the sliver of guilt that worked its way into her mind. It wasn't her fault. She'd done her part. What happened afterward was out of her hands.

The woman turned in her chair once more, leaning back on her elbows against the bar. Lights pulsed over the gyrating dancers, making their skin appear red, purple, then blue. She sighed, wishing she could be as oblivious. Even if just for a moment she could feel the freedom and carelessness that came along with being young. With being uninhibited. There was a time when she was, but that hadn't gotten her anywhere. This, here and now, this was where she was meant to be, and she was as good as they came at this job.

As she looked on, a man in a crisp black suit—his hair slicked back against his head and accentuating his sharp features—broke through the edge of the crowd. His eyes fixed on her immediately and he moved forward. The woman uncrossed and crossed her legs nervously, sitting up straighter in her chair. The man continued his path until he stood before her, dark eyes fixed on hers. Her heart beat erratically as she looked into the face of The Voice. He wasn't exactly as she'd pictured. A little shorter, a little thinner, but he was striking in his own way.

"You have something for me?" he asked. The same steady, unemotional tone he always used accentuated his words.

She cocked her head to the side and licked her lips before drawing the bottom one between her teeth. Lifting a hand, she tweaked her pointer finger at him. As he leaned in, she slid her fingers along his tie, giving a good show to the onlookers down the bar. She twisted the fabric around her hand and brought her lips to his ear.

"Codeword?"

The man turned his face toward her, his nose brushing her skin as he brought his mouth to her cheek. With a soft kiss, he whispered, "Wind chime."

She smiled and reached back into her jacket pocket, the locket slipping easily into her hand. Without letting go of his tie, she ran her fingers over his open palm and discreetly dropped the necklace into the center. He closed his fist around it and straightened before glancing down at what he held.

He brought his hand closer to his face and a small line formed between his brows. The woman fidgeted in her seat, and after a moment, the man looked up.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs. "Sir?"

"This." He thrust his hand out and dropped the locket back into her open palm. "Do you think this is funny?"

The woman looked around, couples continued to dance and flirt, and singles scoped out the other singles in the vicinity. No one seemed to be paying them any attention. "I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about."

The man pointed to the locket. "Take a good look, and tell me what you see."

She did as she was told, her eyes raking over the golden, heart-shaped locket in her hand. "It's—it's the locket. The one you sent me to get."

"No." He shook his head. "This is not what I hired you to find. This," he thrust his finger toward the necklace once more, "looks similar, but it's not the same."

"I—I don't understand."

The man growled—the first sound of emotion she had even heard from The Voice. "The locket I'm looking for is not plain on the surface, it has a series of markings—interconnecting lines and swirls. It also has several odd shaped protrusions coming from the edges where it joins together. This one has none of those."

"But—" The woman fumbled for words. "But this is the locket the girl wore! We're sure of it. It was the only one in her apartment."

The man leaned down, his breath cool against her cheeks. "Obviously, it's not. This is not the locket Jocelyn Morgenstern wore." He shoved her hand, causing her to lose grip on the necklace and it fell to the floor, disappearing under the bar.

"But, sir—"

"I don't want any excuses. You were hired to get me the necklace. I want it immediately. Do whatever you have to do, but get it. I want no more screw-ups."

The woman swallowed. She had no idea how to go about getting him a necklace she had no way to find. The one she'd brought was the only one the girl had worn, and her partner had assured her that this was the only necklace in the girl's possession. But what could she do? She was bound now. There was no getting out of this.

Looking up, she met his dark, cruel eyes and muttered the only phrase she knew wouldn't get her killed instantly, "Yes, Sir."

.o.O.o.

The air in the bathroom was still thick and warm from the moisture of the shower. Jace stood at the sink, a white towel wrapped securely around his waist. Drops of cooling water fell from his hair and trailed down the plains of his back. Reaching forward, he swiped a hand over the fogged up mirror, and leaned in, inspecting the claw marks on his shoulder. Four red lines, about five inches long, stretched from the top of his clavicle to the center of his shoulder blade. A smirk curled up one corner of his mouth.

"What are you grinning at?" Clary asked.

Jace spotted her in the mirror, standing behind him and tucking a towel around her. He turned, and pointed at his upper back. "You marked me."

Clary frowned and crossed the room. When she reached him, she wrapped her hands around his upper arms and leaned in, kissing the marks and then brushing her lips over the surrounding skin. "Does it hurt?"

Jace felt the fine hairs on his neck rise as her breath tickled his flesh. "Nuh-uh." He smiled. "I like it."

Clary rolled her eyes. "You would."

With a chuckle, he turned back to the mirror and grabbed the can of shaving cream, shaking it before opening the medicine cabinet to retrieve his razor. Clary moved around him and hoisted herself up onto the small counter beside the sink, frowning.

"What?" Jace asked.

She reached out and grabbed the can and razor from him, setting them next to the sink beside her. Placing her hands on his hips, she guided him to her, one of her legs resting to either side of him. Jace raised a brow in question, but allowed her to draw him in.

"Wait a sec." Clary raised her fingers and ran them along the stubble on his jaw. Her touch was soft, almost as if she were barely touching him at all. "Do you have to shave? I like how this feels." Her eyes rose to his and then dropped to his mouth. She traced his lips with her fingers.

"You do, do you?" Jace leaned in until his mouth nearly touched hers. He couldn't actually tell her that, yes, he did_ have_ to shave. Isabelle had told him that morning that they'd been summoned again by Hodge. The Director would be there—as would his mother. It wouldn't make things any easier if he showed up looking like a slob.

Clary nodded and closed the distance between them, her fingers still touching his lips as she kissed him softly. Jace cupped her cheek, returning her kisses with slow, gentle ones of his own. There was no rush, no urgency—not any more. Only the feel of her mouth against his mattered.

After a few minutes, he pulled back. "So . . . Can I shave now? Or would you like to continue petting my face?"

Clary laughed and pushed against his chest. "Do you have to saturate every moment with assyness?"

"I wouldn't be me if I didn't." He flashed a grin and grabbed at her waist, burying his face in her neck. "Besides, you love it and you know it."

"Mmm." She ran her fingers through his hair and dropped her head back.

Jace rubbed his cheek against her skin, and after one small kiss to the dip at the base of her throat, he pulled back. "Unfortunately, I really do have to get ready. And you," he tapped a finger on the end of her nose, "have to go to work."

"I know." She sighed and then pushed her bottom lip out in a pout. "I don't wanna."

"Yeah, well, join the club. I don't wanna, either." Jace turned the tap on hot and bent over the sink, cupping a handful of water and splashing it over his face. When he rose up, he grabbed the can again and filled his palm with a small amount of shaving cream. After spreading it over his cheeks and chin, he reached for the razor, but Clary was quicker and snatched it up before he could. He looked up, meeting her gaze.

She bit her lip, her eyes flashing playfully. "Can I do it?"

Jace raised a brow. "You want to shave my face?"

Clary shrugged. "Yeah. Can I?"

"Have you ever done that before?"

She shook her head.

Jace swallowed, a strange twinge tightening in his chest. Not necessarily because he was afraid she'd cut him—although there was that . . . "I don't know," he said slowly.

"I'll be careful." She batted her lashes in an attempt to soften him up. It worked. He couldn't resist her.

"Okay—" a huge smile broke over her face— "but I swear to God if you cut me, I'm going to have to punish you."

"I won't cut you."

Jace paused and let out a slow breath. "Okay," he repeated and leaned forward, placing his hands on her bare thighs. Her skin felt warm and smooth under his fingers. He let his thumbs trace small circles into her flesh.

Clary paused. "If you don't want me to cut you—you probably shouldn't distract me." She gestured to his hands.

"But it makes me less nervous when I touch you." He grinned, increasing the diameter of the circles.

She rolled her eyes. "You're such a baby."

Clary reached over and turned on the hot water, letting her fingers sit under the stream until it reached the desired temperature. Once it had, she pulled the stopper lever and filled the sink partially before turning it off. After dipping the razor in the warm water, she glanced back up at Jace. "Ready?"

"Mmhmm." He smiled to let her know he was good to go.

Clary sucked in a breath and raised the blade. Pressing it lightly to the top of his cheek just below his sideburn, she slid it down his face to his jaw in one smooth stroke. She lifted the razor and let out a breath as she inspected her work. A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth.

"So, how much damage are we looking at? Any blood?" Jace asked, even though he knew she hadn't cut him.

She scowled. "No. I didn't even nick you. I told you I wouldn't."

"Well, excuse me for being slightly nervous about you holding a sharp object against my face. It would be a shame for you to mess up something this pretty."

Clary snorted and shook her head. "Don't make me laugh! I might really cut you then." She brought the blade up again. "Now hold still, and stop looking all sexy and whatnot. I'm trying to concentrate."

"You act as if that's something I can help, Spitfire. Maybe you just need to learn to control your hormones."

She froze, the razor hovering just millimeters from his skin. "Would you like me to control them, Cass?" With her free hand, she trailed a finger down his chest, slowly and with purpose, to the towel wrapped around his waist.

Jace's breath caught as she dipped a finger under the edge. Heat flared from the place she touched, and spread throughout his body. What the hell? How could he respond so strongly after he'd just had her? His stomach clenched and tremors of want rumbled through him. The rest of his body reacted accordingly.

"Hmm," Clary said, her mouth twisting into a wicked grin. "Looks like I'm not the only one who needs to learn to control her hormones."

"You know, Spitfire," Jace squeezed her thighs and started to slowly make his way up her legs, "I thought I was pretty clear about what would happen the last time you teased me." His fingers traced the line of her inner thigh, lightly, teasingly.

Clary's eyes widened and Jace saw the movement of her throat as she swallowed. He continued his path up, up, up, until she held the razor out to him, her hand shaking slightly. "Finish your damn face. And hurry."

He chuckled and plucked the blade from her hand, quickly finishing the job she'd started. It crossed his mind to take his time—just to screw with her—but who was he kidding? He was just as damn anxious as she was.

Before he could even wipe the excess shaving cream from his face, Clary grabbed him and had him locked in a kiss so fierce he could barely breathe. Her lips were hard, almost painful against his, and her hands pulled at his hair. She wrapped her legs around him, ensnaring him in their embrace. Jace picked her up from the counter and turned toward the door. The whole shower thing had been fun, but he wanted more freedom to move and feel her this time.

Clary had herself bound so tightly around him, Jace could hardly move his head to see where he was going. On his way to the bedroom, he nearly tripped over a pair of Alec's shoes and ran into the hall table, knocking it to the floor with a thud, almost smashing his foot. Several pictures swung on their hooks when Clary's back swiped the wall after the table incident, but not even that stopped her relentless attack on his lips. It wasn't the most graceful Jace had ever been, but he was beyond caring at that point. He just wanted to get there, needed to get there.

Finally, after navigating his way blind, Jace reached his room and slammed the door shut with his foot. He crossed to the bed and dropped Clary down onto the mattress. She stared up at him from under long lashes, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth, and tweaked her finger at him. Jace reached down and ripped the towel from her body, eliciting a small squeak from her lips. The sight of her lying on his bed, naked, and beckoning him in was enough to make him lose his mind.

"Jesus, hell, Clary, _sei così dannatamente caldo._" he said, not knowing where the hell the Italian came from, but from the wild look in her eyes when the words crossed his lips, he decided to go with it. With a flick of his wrist, he removed his own towel and dropped it to the floor. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

Clary's eyes traveled down his body and she smiled before meeting his gaze. "I think I have a pretty good one, yes."

Jace reached down, tucked his arm under her back, and dragged her up the bed as he climbed onto the mattress. "You think you're funny, don't you?" he said as he settled on top of her, the warmth of her skin soaking into his.

She raised her hands, and traced his cheekbones. "I know I am. Now, shut up and kiss me."

"_È che tutto quello che vuoi? Un bacio?_" Jace grinned as Clary's breath caught, and leaned into her. "_Il suo desiderio è il mio commando, dolcezza,_" he whispered.

"Oh my God, you're going to kill me with all your sexy foreign language talk," she gasped, her fingers curling into his hair as she pulled his mouth to hers.

Just as their lips touched, a loud banging and the shrill sound of the doorbell split through the air.

Jace lifted his head and glanced back at the door, his brow furrowed. "Who the hell could that be?"

Clary brought his face back to hers. "Who cares?" she said, clamping her teeth around his lower lip.

Jace closed his eyes, groaned, and settled into her, deciding she was right—who the hell _did_ care? His hand trailed down her side and grabbed her waist. Clary reached around him and pressed her fingers into his lower back, urging him forward. He grasped her knee and pulled it up, draping it over his side. She was so warm, _so_ _damn warm_, and so ready. Sliding his hand along her outer thigh, his hips twitched forward—and the doorbell rang again.

"Damn it," he swore, and lowered his head to her chest, trying to catch his breath before reluctantly sliding off from her. She whimpered quietly at the absence of him and reached out to pull him back. Jace leaned over, kissing her lightly on the lips. "I'm sorry, baby. I'll get rid of them."

He picked his towel back up and tucked it around his waist, trying to hide the evidence of his very frustrated state underneath. With one last glance at Clary—sprawled out over his dark blue comforter, her creamy skin begging for him to touch it, kiss it, bite it—he cursed again and stalked out of the room.

"Whoever the God-damned-hell this is better pray this is important," he ranted to himself as he crossed the living room to the front door, his fists clenching and unclenching in aggravation. Twisting the lock, he wrenched open the door, his face fixed in a murderous glare, and his mouth ready to spew hateful words toward the perpetrator. The expression dropped from his face as soon as he saw who darkened his doorstep.

Eyes as black as night crawled over him, no doubt taking in his absent attire before making their way back to his face. Jace crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at Valentine Morgenstern. His son, Jonathan, lingered behind, his head down and eyes on the floor.

"I'm here for my daughter, Clarissa," Valentine said.

"Clary lives in the apartment under this one."

"I know. I was told she was here."

"Really? And who told you this?"

Valentine smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I have my sources. It would do you well, young man, to step aside and let me see my daughter."

Jace narrowed his eyes and was about to tell him what would do _him_ well, when a small voice sounded behind him.

"Dad?"

Jace turned. Clary stood in the middle of the living room, her towel the only thing covering her naked body from the stare of her father and brother.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her eyes wide with surprise, and her hand clutching the white fabric surrounding her.

Valentine eyed her, the disgust evident in his stare. Jace wanted to rearrange his face. How dare he look at her that way? Like she wasn't worthy of his kindness—of his adoration. "I could ask you the same thing, Clarissa. Though, I think it's quite obvious what _you_ are doing here." He looked back at Jace, his eyes regarding him as if he were a bug that needed to be squashed, and sighed. "Oh, Clarissa. When will you ever learn?"

* * *

_Ahem, I think you can forgive me for the cliffy after all that…Ahhh! Almost a twofer! Dang Valentine. Sigh. Well, now that we've gotten that out of our systems…;)_

_I apologize for the extra week wait, but it was unavoidable. Due to the holiday (Thanksgiving), there will most likely be a 2-week span between chapters again. And there will probably only be 2 or 3 updates in December as well. This will all depend on both my beta and my schedules over the holidays. Just a little fair warning._

_As always, LLWB, you rock my socks. I *heart* you!_

_A special thanks to niniadepapa for the Spanish help, and to Smiley for his Italian—Sweets, you know the girls are swooning now, right? ;) *besos*_

_Until next time: xoxoxo, ddpjclaf_

_Translations:_

_**Spanish:**_

_Lo mío es tuyo.– What's mine is yours._

_Mi fiera pelirroja – My feisty/fierce red head._

_**Italian:**_

_sei così dannatamente caldo – you're so damn hot._

_È che tutto quello che vuoi? Un bacio?_ _- Is that all you want? A kiss?_

_Il suo desiderio è il mio commando, dolcezza. - Your wish is my command, sweetness_


	17. What Matters Most

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**16. What Matters Most**

This is a long, plotty one, so make sure you're comfy. ;)

_Chapter songs:_

_**High – James Blunt_

_**Mean to Me – Tonic _

_**I Will Not Bow – Breaking Benjamin_

_**Ocean Wide – The Afters_

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The scent of Jace surrounded Clary as she lowered his shirt over her head. God, she loved how he smelled—clean, spice, and him. The soft pile brushed against her face, and she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. For a moment, she wanted to stay there inside, encompassing herself with him. Damn her father. He had the worst timing imaginable. And she was frustrated as hell.

It astounded her how she could have Jace, and then want him all over again within minutes. How that yearning, that ache, never fully went away. No matter how satisfied she was, she still wanted him—all the time. She couldn't make her mind focus on anything else. His arms, and how they held her so tight, so close, as if she might decide to leave if he let her go. His hands, so large, so strong, so capable, yet so gentle, touching her with care and respect. His lips—perfectly soft and warm. His sexy smirk—which had snagged her the moment he'd unleashed it on her, making her want to give him more than just her panties. His sassy mouth—sometimes the things he said were so hot it hurt, and other times so sweet, she could barely believe both came from the same person. His douchebaggery—as much as she knew she shouldn't, she loved that too. She loved all of it, wanted it all. She wanted _him_.

She needed to get a grip. It couldn't be healthy to feel how she was feeling. To obsess so completely over one person, but, Jesus, the things he did to her . . .

With a shiver, Clary pulled her head through the neck opening of the shirt and thrust her arms out the sleeves. She caught sight of Jace, still shirtless, but now wearing a pair of dark jeans which he had yet to button and zip. The front of his black boxer briefs peeked out the opening and above the top. Clary swallowed hard against the desire to sigh and run her hands over his bare skin. God, what had this boy done to her? She was wrecked. Absolutely and completely wrecked.

After a moment of gawking, she realized he was just standing at his dresser, the top drawer open, and his white knuckled hands clutching the edge. Creases formed on his forehead as he stared into the space.

Clary frowned. "Jace?"

He glanced up, his brows pulled together, and a glint of worried confusion flashed in his eyes.

"What's wrong?"

Clary saw his throat move as he swallowed and turned back to the dresser. He reached into the drawer. "We, uh . . . in the shower, we didn't . . ." Jace withdrew his hand and held out a familiar square package.

Clary's eyes fell to the object. "Oh," she said, her mind not comprehending what she was seeing. Finally, it clicked. In the shower, they hadn't . . . "Oh!"

A flood of panic crashed over her as the entire scene played back in her mind. The desperate, untamed look in his eyes when he'd warred with himself over taking her the way he needed, and her own breathy pleas for him to just let go. The way his fingers curled into her thighs, gripping and tugging against her. How his hands held her body up so easily, and how they'd tightened with torturous restraint after they'd joined together. There had been no stalling, no fumbling, no ripping of packages. Just uninterrupted, fluid movement, and then pure, untainted bliss. Every touch, every sensation—perfection.

Clary hadn't been thinking of anything except how good he felt, how right they were together, and how much she'd wanted to be with him again since that first night. She should have noticed the difference, and thinking back now, she kind of had. It had been so much better, so much . . . more. Never before had it felt like that, like there was nothing between them. And now, she realized, it was because nothing had been. It was just her, and just him, nothing separating them. No barriers.

What had she done? What had they done? What time of the month was it?

"Oh, God." She raised her hand to her mouth. "We didn't."

"Clary—" Jace said, his strained voice breaking through her thoughts. Clary knew he was freaking out—hell, _she_ was freaking out a little.

She held up her hand and waved it in front of her face. "Hold on . . . just . . . let me think."

He furrowed his brows, but didn't say another word.

Clary had been on the pill since she'd turned sixteen for health reasons, but she'd switched it recently. Had it been a full month? She counted back, trying to remember if she'd had a period since starting the new prescription. She thought she had. God, she hoped she had. She looked up and met Jace's eyes. "It's okay. I—I think it's okay." She paused. "I'm . . . I'm protected . . ." Clary bit her lip, and watched the relief slowly wash over his face.

"I'm sorry," he said, closing his eyes. "I never . . . I got carried away and I didn't think."

"We both did," Clary said.

Opening his eyes, Jace found hers once more. "But, I never forget, ever." He raised his hand and fisted his hair. "I don't know what the hell . . ."

"Ever?" she asked.

He lowered his hand, his eyes intent on hers. "Ever."

"So, you're . . . you know, good and everything?"

A grin picked at his serious demeanor. "Yeah, Spitfire. I'm 'good and everything.'"

"Okay, me too," she said, relieved. Clary narrowed her eyes at his amused look. "Don't laugh at me, Cass. You were just freaking out yourself a minute ago. And it's a perfectly legitimate thing to worry about, you know, since I don't know how many—" She stopped, her face heating instantly.

Jace raised a brow. "Since you don't know how many people I've slept with?" He paused. "I can tell you if you want to know," he said quietly.

Clary thought about the prospect for a moment. Part of her—the sick and nosey part—did kind of want to know, but the other, saner part was afraid to hear it. What if it was a lot? Like, a LOT, a lot?

"You all right?" Jace asked, his eyes trained on her.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, Clary said, "Yeah. I just . . . I don't know. Do you actually know how . . . how many?"

He looked a little insulted. "Of course I know."

"I wasn't trying to say . . . It's just . . . well, you . . . you flirt a lot, and the way I met you . . . and well, you seem to know what you're doing . . ." Clary bit her lip, her curiosity begging her to ask. She glanced up at him. "Is it less than twenty?" She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that. I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

Clary felt him move forward. His hands found her face and lifted. "It is your business."

"No, it's not. You don't have to spell out your life before me."

"Clary?" he said. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes and was met with his—large and golden and staring straight into hers.

"Yes," Jace said, "less than twenty."

Clary swallowed. "You didn't have to tell me that." Her voice was quiet and shaking.

He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, his gaze taking in her face as if he meant to memorize it. "If we're doing _this_ you have a right to know—if you want."

Clary let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Okay, less than twenty for me too then. Less than ten, er five, er . . . three, actually."

"Less than three?"

She nodded.

"So, two?"

She nodded again. "Including you." Her cheeks burned and she tried to pull her face away, but he held tight.

"Why are you embarrassed about that?"

"I'm not—not really," Clary said. "It's just . . . I'm so inexperienced and you're . . ."

"Do you want to know?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"No." Clary closed her eyes and shook her head, then opened them and grimaced. "Less than eighteen? No, wait—" She waved her hands in front of her face. "I don't want to know."

He chuckled. "You're cute when you're indecisive, you know that? But the truth is, it's probably not near what you think it is. I'm loose with the lips and hands, but other stuff, well, I'm kind of selective about that. I'm not interested in being the father of some random one-night-stand's baby, nor do I want any . . . uh, parts to fall off."

"But you're twenty! I mean, that gives you awhile to have been . . . " She made a sweeping gesture with her hands.

He grinned and looked down, almost as if he were embarrassed. "What do you think; my life has just been one constant party of women and sex? It's not like I've been screwing around all this time."

Clary eyed him skeptically. "I don't buy it. You're way too hot to not have been getting a bunch of action."

"Shut up." Jace shoved her away playfully. "If you really don't want me to tell you, then let's talk about something else."

Clary hesitated, thinking once more whether or not she wanted to know. _No_, she told herself. _I don't need to know._ "Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"Really?" He raised a brow. "You're going to forget it, just like that?"

"Yes. But if we keep talking about it, I'll lose my resolve. So . . . change of subject?"

"Maybe we should address the reason we're getting dressed instead of . . ." He bit his lower lip and trailed a finger down her neck, tracing the opening of her shirt.

Clary narrowed her eyes and fought back the urge to shiver.

"Okay, okay." Jace held his hands up in surrender and moved back to the dresser, grabbing a t-shirt from the top. "Why do you think your father is here?"

"I don't know." She sighed. "I mean, he never comes to this part of town. Never."

"Maybe he heard about the break-in?" He shrugged into the shirt, pulling it down over his torso and hiding the sculpted muscles and swirls of ink.

An involuntary whimper came from Clary's throat. It seemed a sin against nature for something so beautiful to be covered.

Jace caught her eye and smirked, seemingly knowing exactly what she was thinking.

Heat flooded her face, spread down her neck, and trailed across her chest to her thighs. She blinked and looked away. "Even so," she said, looking around the room for her pants and trying to ignore the way he was looking at her. "It isn't like him to just show up."

"How does he normally contact you then?"

"Well, he usually sends Jonathan alone. Doesn't like to be seen here, you know?" Ducking down at the end of the bed and lifting the comforter, Clary searched for her discarded jeans, huffing when she didn't find them. "He finds this area of the city beneath him or whatever." She stood and pursed her lips.

Jace moved in behind her and reached out, her pants clutched in his hand. "Looking for these?"

Clary spun around. "Yes." She grabbed for them but he pulled his hand back and grinned. "Jace . . . Give 'em," she said, a warning hint to her voice as she reached for them again.

He stretched higher. "No. I think pants-less is a good look for you."

Clary narrowed her eyes and jumped, her fingers closing around the fabric and pulling it free from his grasp. When she landed on the ground, she stuck her tongue out at him and slid her legs in.

"Spoil sport." Jace chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his boots.

Clary turned around, her eyes sliding over him once more. She watched the way the muscles in his back flexed as he bent to pull on his boots and tie the laces. Her body tingled in that way it always did when she wanted him, and she decided her damn father could wait.

As Jace sat up to grab the other shoe, she stepped in front of him. He looked up at her from under thick lashes, his brows raised. Clary moved forward, straddled his legs, and then lowered herself to sit in his lap.

Jace dropped the boot and raised his hands to rest on her hips. "Whatcha doing, Spitfire?" he said, his voice quiet and rough.

She ran her hands up his arms, her fingers tracing lightly over the ink on his bicep. "Well, I can't let you think I'm someone who spoils all the fun now, can I?"

"I never thought that, but I'm more than willing to let you prove it to me if you must."

"Mmm." She pressed her fingers into his chest and pushed. He lay back onto the bed easily, looking up at her through eager eyes. Clary placed her palms on the mattress to either side of his head and hovered over him, her hair falling down and creating a curtain around them. His hands slipped up her sides, bringing her shirt up slightly as he went. Clary closed her eyes as his touch seared into her.

Jace reached up and swiped her hair back behind her shoulder. "Not that I'm complaining or suggesting you stop, but isn't your overbearing ass of a father waiting for you? I'm sure he's not all that thrilled with being kicked out of my apartment, though I will admit I enjoyed doing it far more than I probably should have."

"He's only in the diner across the street. It'll do him well to hang out with some ordinary people—as he calls them—every once and awhile. And it's not like he doesn't make me wait all the time anyway." She leaned in and brushed her lips along his jaw, her fingers inching up into his hair. "Besides, he interrupted earlier, and I wasn't done with you yet."

"Oh, you weren't, were you?"

"Nuh-uh."

Jace grinned and cupped her face between his hands. "You really are one mischievous little girl, Spitfire."

"Are you complaining, Cass?"

"Not even a little bit."

Clary pressed her lips to his and smiled. "Good. Now, shut up so I can enjoy pissing off my father, and taking advantage of this hot body of yours for the second time today."

Jace wrapped his arms around her, his chest rumbling with laughter as he pulled her flush against him.

.o.O.o.

Clary took one step outside and shivered. The temperature had dropped significantly from the day before and she could taste the crisp bite of snow in the air. She really wished she had her coat, but it was back in her apartment along with everything else she owned, and she wasn't ready to deal with that mess yet.

Gray clouds covered the sky in thick layers, obliterating any chance of seeing even a sliver of blue today. By the looks of things, Clary wouldn't be surprised if it actually did snow. A blast of frigid wind whipped through the streets, lifting her hair and throwing it back down into her face. She swiped at it over and over again, but the action proved futile because once she had it back in place, another gust would come and mess it all up again.

Jace laughed at her ridiculous attempts to tame her rogue locks, and gathered her hair in one hand, tucking it into the back of her sweatshirt—well, his sweatshirt—and pulling the hood up over her head. The gesture surprised her, not because she thought him incapable of such things—it wasn't unusual for him to do sweet stuff—but something about it felt very . . . couple-ish to her. Not that she would be opposed to the idea, it was just . . . they hadn't discussed it. And she wasn't sure that she wanted to. Things were good—really good—just how they were, and she didn't want to risk it just to label what was going on between them.

Another draft swirled around them, and Clary lifted her hands to rub at her arms. Jace tucked his around her and pulled her to his side, the heat of his body flowing into her and helping to keep the chill at bay. She smiled up at him and they continued across the busy street until they stood at the doors of the café.

Clary peered in through the dusty window and looked around until she found her father and brother's white heads. They looked so out of place in their designer suits with scowls on their faces. Apparently, they didn't appreciate the relaxed atmosphere surrounding them. Clary thought it was quite charming with its old-fashioned jukebox in the corner and red and white checkered tablecloths. She bit back a chuckle and turned to Jace. His stare was glued to the two men inside, creases lining his brow.

"Hey," she said, knowing how much it bothered him to leave her there without him. She wished he'd stop worrying.

Jace glanced down, the lines disappearing immediately, and although he tried to hide it, the struggle was still evident in his eyes.

"Stop worrying."

"I'm not," he said.

Clary thrust her hands on her hips. "Yes you are."

A barely there smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "How would you know?"

"Because I know you."

"Oh, you do, do you?"

"Yep." Clary tugged the hood off her head and pulled her hair out from inside her shirt. It was still windy, but less so under the protective awning of the café. "You don't need to worry, okay? I know you think you do because of what you saw before, but you really don't. I know my dad and my brother and they may be assholes, but they aren't going to hurt me."

Jace looked at her with disbelief.

"They won't." She stared up at him. "Besides, I called Maia and she'll be here in a little bit to go with me to work."

Jace's brows rose in surprise and some of the anxiety left his face.

"See?" Clary winked. "I know you."

"Mmhmm," he said with a grin.

"Now, go," she said, shoving against his chest. "You're going to be late for your meeting with your professor."

He grabbed her arms and pulled her into him. Her breath caught as she collided with his chest.

Jace reached up and held her face, his intense eyes boring into hers. "Don't leave or go anywhere with them. Stay here until Maia comes."

"Telling me what to do now, Cass?"

"Yes," he said, seriously. "We don't know who this stalker is, or if he finally has what he was after. So, please," he closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers, "please just don't be stubborn and do what you're told."

"You know I don't like being told what to do, much less doing what I'm told."

"I know, but if you don't, I won't let you get me naked again. Now, promise me."

Clary laughed. "Like you could stick to that. I have my ways."

Jace smiled and opened his eyes. "And I have mine, baby."

She sighed, knowing he was right and if it came right down to it, he'd probably win. "You have to go."

"You didn't promise yet."

"Jace," she said in exasperation.

"Clary," he mocked her tone.

"You're such an ass." Clary pushed his hands off her face and stepped back. "Fine, I promise. Happy now?"

"Not even remotely," he said. "What would make me happy would be you not being here with them at all. I don't care what you say. I know what I saw, and I don't trust them. Not with you." Jace tucked his fingers under her chin and swiped his thumb over her cheek. "Never with you," he whispered.

"Gag me." A voice came from behind Jace.

He swiveled on his heel and revealed a scowling Maia standing on the sidewalk a short distance from them.

"You're early," Clary said, surprised to see her so soon.

"I was already on the metro so I figured I'd just come now." Maia eyed Jace critically. "Hey, princess. You're not staying, too, are you?"

Jace grinned. "Don't pretend like you don't wish I was. You're not fooling me with this act of disliking me."

"Not everyone you meet likes you."

"Sure they do." He leaned in to Clary. "I have to go. Remember what I said."

"Yeah, yeah." Clary waved him off. "I remember."

He smiled and whispered, "Later, baby."

Clary shivered and watched as he walked away, biting her lip as her eyes focused on the way his jeans hung low on his hips. From the corner of her eye, she saw Maia staring at her, her brows raised and her lips pursed.

"Don't," Clary said, and turned toward the door without looking at Maia. She wrapped her hand around the cold handle and pulled it open. A waft of grease laden air smacked her in the face.

"Don't what?"

"Don't comment."

"I didn't say anything."

"You may not have said anything, yet, but I know you want to." Clary finally glanced over at her friend. A small smirk puckered Maia's lips and she twirled a braided lock of hair between her fingers. Clary rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. Say it."

Maia jumped a little into the air. "You two are totally doing it."

Clary let out an exasperated breath. "Classy, Maia. Really classy."

"What? I just call it like I see it."

"Okay, I'll bite." She crossed the room and stopped at the counter to grab a coffee before joining her brother and father. If she was going to survive this, she definitely needed caffeine. "What makes you think we're 'doing it?'"

"Well, that whole crackling sexual tension is gone—well, not gone, but like . . . calmed. Before, my God, being around you two made my head want to explode. But this time, I don't know, I didn't get that feeling."

"_That's_ what you're basing your theory on? Your feelings on the level of sexual tension between us?" Clary rolled her eyes.

The girl behind the bar came and took their orders. Before Clary knew it, she was back, two cups of steaming hot coffee in her hands. Clary reached out and took her cup, and heard a clearing of a throat behind her. She turned, nearly spilling the hot liquid on to her hand. Jonathan stood before her, his dark eyes squinted in annoyance.

"Are you trying to make this worse by keeping him waiting?"

Clary glanced over her brother's shoulder, her gaze falling on her father. He sat in the furthest booth, his stare locked on the window and his fingers drumming the top of the table.

"No," she said. "I'm just getting coffee." She turned to slip a few dollars to the girl behind the bar when Jonathan grabbed her arm at the elbow. This time, a bit of her drink did spill over her hand and she dropped the cup to the floor. It cracked in half and the remains of her coffee spread over the discolored linoleum, splashes of it staining the bottom of her only remaining pair of jeans.

Clary jumped back out of the way. "Damn it, Jonathan." She grabbed a handful of napkins from the counter and bent to sop up the mess. Jonathan squatted next to her, a gesture that caught Clary off guard.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just . . . I'm sorry."

She looked up, catching his eyes and seeing the feeling clearly in them. "What's going on?"

He shook his head and stood. "Nothing. I need to get back to Father. Just . . . just hurry up." Jonathan stiffened his back and marched back to the table, sliding into the seat across from their father.

Clary rose slowly, her eyes never leaving the forced mask on Jonathan's face. What was up with him?

Maia whistled. "Wow. No wonder you're such a weirdo."

Clary turned to her and scowled.

Maia shrugged. "I'm just saying. I get it now. How could you not be?"

The girl behind the bar came back with a new cup of coffee and Clary took it, giving her a small smile and a short, "Thank you," before looking at Maia. "I have to go get this over with." She started walking toward the booth.

From behind, she heard Maia call out, "Uh, yeah, so . . . I'll just sit here and . . . drink my . . . Oh, God, this stuff is wretched! You call this coffee?"

Clary couldn't help but grin at Maia's tactless behavior. When she reached the booth where her father and brother sat, her father didn't even bother to look up. Jonathan turned in her direction, his eyes flat and indifferent, but Clary still noticed a flicker of feeling buried within the depths. She knew her brother was still in there somewhere. If only she could get him away from their father's influence, maybe he'd return.

"Sit down, Clarissa," her father finally spoke, his voice low and angry. Maybe she'd pushed him too far making him wait even longer, but she wasn't afraid of him. She'd watched him her entire life try to take control by intimidation. It worked a lot of the time for him, but not with her.

Sliding into the booth next to her brother, Clary clutched her cup of coffee and settled into the cool vinyl seat. Her father still didn't look at her. She let out a slow sigh and tapped the side of her cup impatiently. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jonathan close his. They both knew she was egging her father on, but she couldn't help it. She refused to live under his thumb. That was the reason she'd left in the first place. Living at home would have made the most sense. She could have let her father continue supporting her, but that would have meant she would have to abide by his rules, too, and she was through with all of that.

Finally, her father turned his head slowly toward her. His eyes fell on her face and there was nothing but disdain behind them. "Does it amuse you to irritate me, Clarissa?"

Clary shrugged and brought her cup to her lips. The hot liquid flowed into her mouth, slightly burning her tongue and throat on the way down. "Does it amuse you to just barge into my life and order me around?" She set the cup back onto the table with a clink. "Because that seems to be your M.O."

Jonathan stiffened beside her, but she didn't care. Her father wasn't her boss; she didn't have to put up with his ridiculousness.

"I am your father. I have every right to show up on your doorstep and request to see you."

Clary laughed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table top. "Okay, first of all, that wasn't a request. It was a demand. And second of all, it wasn't my doorstep you showed up on."

"No," he studied her carefully, "it wasn't your doorstep, was it?" Her father leaned back into the booth, the seat squeaking under him, and raised his tented fingers to his chin. "What I find interesting is how you can stoop to such low levels."

Clary closed her eyes briefly. _Here we go_, she thought to herself.

"I would have thought—with your upbringing—that you would realize there is a pyramid of people. Some live their lives on the bottom, and others—others like us—live on the top. I have worked very hard to keep our name one that inspires envy, but you just completely disregard that, don't you? Why you continue to associate yourself with those on the bottom is beyond me, and frankly insulting to the lineage you have been blessed with." He eyed her carefully. "That boy you were—with—he knows who you are, yes?"

"Of course he knows who I am."

"I see." Her father looked away. "And it never occurred to you that he may be using you for all the things you—or your name—may offer someone like him?"

"Someone like him?" Clary asked, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

"A bottom feeder. Someone who may be pretty on the outside, but is worth nothing in our world on the inside."

Clary smiled although what she really wanted was to get up and walk out. "I'll be sure to tell Jace you called him pretty, he'll be thrilled to know that."

"Do you think this is funny, Clarissa?" His eyes flashed in anger.

Clary felt Jonathan's hand grab her knee in warning. _Stop_, he was telling her, but she wouldn't stop. She would not be intimidated. Her father had no power over her and she wanted—no needed—him to know that. "No, I don't think it's funny at all, Father. I don't think it's funny how you seem to think you still get a say as to what goes on in my life. You don't support me in any way. I refused to take any of your help, guidance, or money. You have no hold on me."

Suddenly, her father's hand shot across the table and grabbed her chin forcefully, squeezing against her jawbone. It hurt. He pulled her closer to him and the table cut into her chest. His angry eyes focused on hers. "I will always have a hold on you, child. Always. It would do you well never to forget that."

Jonathan reached up and covered their father's hand. "Father," he pleaded, his eyes darting around the room. "People are watching."

Slowly, the rage in their father's eyes dimmed and he dropped his hold. Clary let out an involuntary whimper as pain shot through her face. Raising her hand, she rubbed the area lightly. "What do you want?" she asked, trying hard to hold back the tears threatening to fall, the stinging pain still radiating through her jaw. "You can't possibly have come all this way just to rag on me for everything I do being some sort of disservice to my name."

Valentine sat back in his seat once more. "No, I haven't. I'm looking for something of your mother's."

The locket, Clary thought immediately. "Why would you think I have anything of Mom's? You got rid of it all, remember?"

"Not all," he said. "There was a matching locket and ornate box that had been passed down through her family. It was not among her possessions after she died and I wondered if she'd given them to you?"

A strange feeling washed over Clary. She knew about the locket, of course, but she'd never heard about, or seen, a box. Furthermore, why was her father bringing it up now? Her mother had died three years ago. "What makes you think she would give them to me?"

Her father smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. It was more of an, "I'm quickly losing my patience with you," smile. "Because she'd talked about how they were always passed to the oldest daughter. I just assumed . . ."

"Well, I don't have anything of Mom's. You made sure of that."

He frowned. "You mean, she never gave you anything?"

"Nope," Clary lied. Not that it mattered since the locket was gone, but she didn't want her father to know she had ever had it. "What do you want it for anyway?"

He stared at her. "It's valuable. Priceless, really. I just didn't want to see it fall into the wrong hands."

"Oh, and mine are the wrong hands?"

Valentine raised his palms and let them drop. "We are judged by the company we keep."

Clary slammed her hands to the table. "All right. I've had enough. Next time, Father, if you want to speak with me, call first. I don't appreciate you barging into my life, forcing me to talk to you. You don't have the right."

"I have every right." His voice rose. "I'm your father. It's my job to make sure you are living a life acceptable to our standards, to protect you, to protect this family."

She leaned across the table. "Are you aware that my apartment was broken into last night and my best friend was almost killed, or that I was attacked at work recently?"

Valentine's eyes widened infinitesimally before he controlled his reaction. "No. I wasn't."

She laughed. "And you claim to be protecting me? You have no interest in protecting me at all. All you care about is you, your name, and your business. It would be easier for you if I just wasn't here, but because I am, you delude yourself into thinking that what you're doing is in some way protecting me. If that's what you call protecting—not even knowing when my life has been threatened or disrupted—then I'm not interested. I don't need protection like that." Spinning on her heel, she strode toward the door, catching Maia's eye on the way. Maia scrambled up from her spot at the bar and hurried after Clary.

Both girls exited the diner, the crisp air falling over them and causing Clary to shudder. Traffic moved steadily on the street across from them and pedestrians ambled along the sidewalk, hunched over and clutching their jackets tightly to their bodies.

"Jesus, that was intense," Maia said, mostly to herself.

Clary closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again as she continued to walk toward the subway. Fisting her hands in the material of Jace's sweatshirt, she tugged it closer to her body and a puff of his scent rose up around her. For that brief second, it calmed her, but how she wished for it to be his arms around her instead of his shirt. He always made her feel safe, made her feel cared for. And she needed a dose of that.

She'd made it halfway down the block before she heard someone call her name. Stopping, she turned halfway around and saw Jonathan moving toward her. He caught up with her, panting lightly while trying to catch his breath.

"What do you want, Jonathan?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "I need to get to work."

His eyes fell on hers, and to her surprise, she saw that the flicker of feeling had grown. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right." His gaze darted to Maia and then back to Clary. "You shouldn't provoke him. You know how he gets."

Clary shook her head and started walking away again, but then she froze and turned back to him. Cocking her head to the side, she said, "Do you see now, Jonathan? Do you see why I left? Do you see why I want nothing to do with either of you?"

He swallowed, and his forehead creased.

"It's not because I don't love you, or that I don't want either of you in my life. You're my family." She paused. "But I'm not property, and that's how he treats me—how he treats you. Like we're just things he can control. I'm no one's to control, and I don't think you are either."

Jonathan just stared at her, his hands twisted together in front of him.

Clary sighed. "Take a long, hard look at your life, Jonathan. After you've done that, ask yourself if having that life—Dad's life—is worth selling your soul." She shook her head. "Because if it is—if that's truly how you want to live—as much as I love you, I can't be your sister anymore."

With that, she turned on her heel and continued down the street, leaving her brother standing alone in the middle of the filthy sidewalk.

.o.O.o.

Jace fisted a handful of the hair sticking out from the bottom of his cap as he stared up at the Agency's formidable main office building. What was he doing? He shouldn't be here—not now. Not when she was with them.

He turned and started to move away from the building when he froze several feet away. Lifting his hands to his head, he spun back around and looked up at the towering skyscraper once more. They were waiting for him. The message Isabelle left said he needed to change into fatigues and meet them at building one. Here he was, but he couldn't make himself move. He knew he had no choice—not if he didn't want to lose his badge and have to sit in front of the council. But he didn't trust Valentine Morgenstern with her. Yes, he'd made sure their meeting was in public, and yes, her friend was with her. She wasn't alone, she was safe—somewhere inside, he knew she was.

Jace closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could get back and make sure neither of those douchebags hurt her. Anger flared through him when he thought about the last time Clary's brother and father had put their hands on her. They'd marked her, bruised her. Jace would be damned if he allowed that to happen again. He clenched his fists at his side. He should be there. Not here. But he had no choice. He had to stay.

Taking in another breath, Jace strolled into the building, removing his hat and tucking it under his arm as he passed through the doorway. His footsteps sounded in measured clicks on the marble floors as he walked to the gleaming silver elevators. It felt strange to be in fatigues here. Most people wore business suits and carried briefcases. Only lowly trainees like himself ever had to dress this way. And even then, it was only when someone higher up in the chain of command wanted to tout their authority.

After a moment, the elevator doors opened and he stepped inside, pressing the number seventeen on the panel. The ride up was slow and boring, as usual. He spent his time studying his image in the reflective walls. The person looking out at him was barely recognizable to the one who had been there just weeks earlier. Sure, the same tousled blond hair spilled over his head, the same golden eyes stared back, and the same six-foot tall frame covered by black agency-issued fatigues stood in front of him. But the person behind all that, the person that lived inside, was completely different.

The elevator slowed to a stop and with a ding, the doors slid open to a large, spacious, waiting area. A dozen black straight-backed chairs lined either side, and a large statue of Agents in different stages of their careers occupied the center. Various plaques and honors certain members of the Agency had received adorned the walls. Sitting in two of the chairs off to the far right were Isabelle and Alec.

Alec looked up as Jace approached. "Fatigues," he grumbled.

"Yep," Jace answered, plopping down onto a chair across from them.

"I didn't think we were doing that bad of a job," Isabelle said.

Jace looked up, his brow raised. "Really? And the fact that our 'job' has been getting threatening texts, got attacked at work right under our noses, your apartment has been broken into twice now, and Simon was almost killed, is your definition of doing a good job?"

She frowned. "Hey, don't get all pissy with me, Jace. I haven't seen you preventing it any better than the rest of us."

He leaned forward and placed his head in his hands. "I know. I just . . . I had to leave her with her asinine father to come here."

"What?" Alec sat up straighter. "Why would you do that?"

Jace lowered his hands and glared at Alec. "Not by choice, Alec. He showed up at the apartment this morning demanding to see her. What was I supposed to do? Forbid her to go?" He sank back into his chair. "Like that would even work."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Isabelle said. "I mean, she lived alone with him and her brother for three years before going out on her own, right?"

Jace nodded. "But it's different—I don't know what he was like when she lived with him, but I think the fact that she left to go out on her own has basically shoved a giant stick up his ass. You haven't seen him with her. He looks at her like she's a piece of gum stuck to his shoe, and he—" Jace clenched his fists and stood. "I shouldn't be here. I should be there, with her, I should be—."

"You didn't leave her alone with him, right?" Isabelle interrupted.

Jace shook his head. "Her friend Maia came and I made sure the meeting was in a public place. I made her promise not to go anywhere with them."

"If she promised you, she'll do what she says."

He looked up and met Isabelle's dark eyes. "I don't know, Izzy. She doesn't like being told what to do."

Isabelle smiled. "She cares about you. If she swore to you she wouldn't, then she won't."

Just then, a large set of double doors opened on the other side of the waiting room. A girl, probably around their age with short blond hair and wearing a tight black pencil skirt, stepped out into the room. She held a clipboard in her hands and adjusted her small-framed glasses before she said, "Agents, the Director will see you now."

Alec and Isabelle joined Jace, and the three of them crossed the floor to the doorway. They entered into a large meeting room. A massive oval table sat directly in the center, and a white screen stretched across the far wall. Only three chairs were assembled on the opposite side of the table, and in them sat Hodge, Director Lightwood, and the Ambassador—Jace's mother. He groaned silently. This was not going to go smoothly where he was concerned.

"Agents," Director Lightwood addressed them. "At rest."

Jace relaxed his posture and stood with his feet approximately one foot apart and his hands clasped behind him. Alec and Isabelle mimicked his movements. He looked straight ahead at the wall in front of him. There was a reason they called them in today and made them wear fatigues. Just as there was a reason there were no chairs for them to sit in. This was a test of their obedience, their ability to follow orders.

The Director continued to write something down in a large notebook for several more moments before she closed it and looked up, lacing her fingers together on top of the cover. Silence permeated the room as she stared at them for a few more seconds. "Hodge, please fill the Agents in on why they're here."

Hodge's eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, Ma'am." He stood and moved to stand in front of the projector at the opposite end of the table.

Jace finally allowed his gaze to focus on something other than the wall.

Hodge cleared his throat. "A week or so ago, an informant inside Valentine Morgenstern's camp informed us of a meeting between Mr. Morgenstern and an associate to the Ruffio family. We were able to set up surveillance of the meeting." He turned to the projector and flipped the switch.

Light flowed from the machine and an image appeared on the screen hanging on the opposite wall—a distant photo of Valentine Morgenstern and Ruffio's top middleman, Victor Pangborn. Morgenstern held a briefcase in one hand and reached out with the other. Pangborn held an object out, and seemed to be reaching for the briefcase. Hodge clicked a button and the picture changed. This time, Pangborn held the briefcase and Morgenstern appeared to be holding nothing. Hodge flipped through several more photographs, all showing different angles of the same thing. After he had gone through them all and they were back to the first image, Hodge turned the machine off.

Director Lightwood stood as Hodge made his way back to his seat. "It's always been suspected that Morgenstern was in with the Ruffio family in more ways than just being their lawyer," she said. "His wealth grew too quickly and at such large increments that it seemed likely he was in some sort of trade for them. We just never had any concrete proof. Even this," she gestured to the projector, "is not enough to convict him on. We need actual proof of him doing something illegal, not just a photo of him exchanging something with someone associated with Ruffio." She came around to sit on the edge of the table, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "We have received intel that another drop will be made soon—possibly at the annual ball Morgenstern holds at the firm. In fact, this source also tells us that this ball has been a cover up for nearly all of Morgenstern's significant dealings. When we went back over our records, we did find that around that time every year was when Morgenstern made his biggest deposits. It has only been in the last three years that activity has ceased."

Jace's eyes snapped to the Director's. "The last three years?" he asked.

She nodded. "You are aware of what happened three years ago?"

"Mrs. Morgenstern was killed in an accident."

"Precisely." Director Lightwood stood and made her way back to her seat, opening a manila folder from the stack in front of her. "Jocelyn Fairchild-Morgenstern, killed October 30, 2007 when her vehicle failed to stop at a railroad crossing. Vehicle was too demolished to determine whether anything had been tampered with beforehand."

"Does the Agency believe her death was not an accident?" Alec asked.

"We believe it wasn't. We believe Mrs. Morgenstern knew something and that she was taken out. We just don't know what, and we don't know why all of the large money drops quit after her death. We're sure he's still been up to his old tricks, but to this point, Valentine has kept all of his illegal dealings under the radar. But now he's up to something big. This 'new client' he claims to be courting is actually a cover for the Blackwell family."

"He really doesn't mess around," Isabelle muttered.

The Director's eyes fell on her. "No, he doesn't. He definitely plays with the big boys."

"Excuse me, Director," Jace said, growing impatient. "But if I may, what does this have to do with our assignment? Do you have an idea of what we're supposed to be looking for? Because if not, and we're just supposed to be finding you incriminating evidence to use against Morgenstern, then I'm not sure why we've been summoned."

The Director opened her mouth to speak when Jace's mother stood and spoke instead. "You're not sure?" she asked and she came around the table to stand before them.

"Celine—" the Director started.

Jace's mother held up her hand to quiet the other woman, her eyes intent on Jace.

Jace met her stare. "Correct. I'm not sure why we were summoned to be told of more of Valentine's dealings. That doesn't help us get to him any easier than before."

His mother smiled, but it was cold and unfeeling. "You can never have too much information, Agent. Do you not remember that from your training?"

"Of course I do. But I also recall learning that we should compartmentalize, take only the information needed to complete the task, and if more is needed, then retrieve it. If we're given too much, it could muddy the objective."

"Well, obviously—seeing as you have yet to bring us anything on Morgenstern—you must be in need of more."

Alec spoke. "It's not that. It's just that we haven't been presented with an opportunity to infiltrate Valentine's inner circle yet."

She turned her golden eyes on Alec. "I don't understand how you haven't. Agent Lightwood lives with the girl. You and Agent Herondale live upstairs. You're friends, you attend the same college. How difficult can it be to get this girl to trust you, to bring you in?"

"It's not that simple—" Jace said.

His mother whipped her attention back to him. "It _is_ that simple, Agent." She stepped forward until her nose was right in his face. "Or at least it should be." She studied him for a moment and then laughed. "I knew it was a mistake to bring you in."

"Excuse me?" he asked, his fists clenching behind his back. Isabelle shot him a worried look from the corner of her eye.

"You heard me. This was a mistake," his mother said. "I told them you couldn't handle this, that you were too soft. Oh, you put on a good show of being indifferent during training, but I knew you'd break."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, no?" She paused and tapped her chin. Turning toward her seat, she pulled a folder forward and opened it, slipping several black and white photographs out of the sleeve. Jace's chest tightened. "Ah, now I have your attention, don't I?" She lay the photos down on the table one by one.

First, there was one of him and Clary at the club—it must have been from one of their first meetings. He was leaning against the bar and she held a tray of drinks. The expressions on their faces were not ones of familiarity, but of curiosity. The next photo was of the both of them in the back of the moving truck, him without his shirt and her helping him move boxes. Jace's eyes moved along the line of pictures, each one showing bits and pieces of the time he'd spent in Clary's life, the last ending with him carrying her from her apartment the night of the break-in up to his.

Finally, he lifted his gaze to his mother's, and he could feel the anger brewing behind them. "So what?" he asked. "What do these photos have to do with anything?"

"These pictures show an increased familiarity between you and the girl."

"That was our job. Get close to the girl, was it not?" He tried hard to keep the venom out of his voice but knew he'd failed.

His mother stepped close once more. "Your job was to give the girl the sense that you were growing closer, not to actually do it. As an Agent, you are not afforded the luxury of becoming emotionally invested. I knew you couldn't handle this. I told them you couldn't."

"With all due respect, Ma'am," Alec said, "This is a little different than your average case. This girl is not the bad guy. We're not trying to get information on her. We're putting ourselves into her day-to-day life in hopes to gain information on her father. Information this girl has no idea about. There has also been the complication with this stalker—"

"I don't care about any of that." She held up her hand.

"How can you not care about that?" Jace asked.

"Because it's not relevant to the case—at least not yet."

"But she needs to be protected—"

"It is not your job to protect her!"

"If we don't do it, then who's going to?" Jace's voice rose. "Someone has tried to hurt her, has sent threatening messages, has broken into her apartment, has almost killed her best friend. What the hell do you expect us to do? Sit back and watch while this all happens and do nothing about it?"

"You had better hold your tongue, Agent, if you value your career."

"My career? You think I'm worried about my career at this point, Mother?" he said, knowing he was crossing a line addressing her personally at work, but he was finished caring. He knew this had nothing to do with professionalism and everything to do with her not wanting to be embarrassed by her son. "If it were solely up to you, I'd have no career anyway."

She balked, but he continued.

"I'm a good Agent, a damn good Agent. I'm at the top of my class and have the best scores of any trainee to come out of the Academy. Yet, what do you task me for? Not my excellent shot, not my ability to solve even the most difficult riddles, no, you pimp me out. Use me for my pretty face. I went along with it because I wanted the job. I wanted to prove to you that I could do this, that I could be . . . this. But no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, you still can't see me."

His mother said nothing, but her chest heaved with angry pants.

"I'm done trying to make you see me," Jace said. "Done pretending to be this person I'm not. This," he waved his hands around the office and then down his body indicating his uniform, "means nothing if I'm just going to be a pawn. You gave me an assignment, but it's a joke. Hit on the girl, make her want you, make her fall for you, you told me, but make sure you remain a stone. Make sure you remember that she's a means to an end. She's not a living, breathing, feeling, _innocent_ human being. Don't have any feelings. Don't feel guilty every time she looks at you, every time she touches you, every time she trusts you. Just do your job, and maybe, _maybe_, we'll give you a little pat on the back for destroying this girl's faith." He paused and lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "I'm a good Agent. But if that's what it takes to be an excellent one? Then I don't want it." He shook his head. "I'm a _good _Agent. But I can't be this."

Reaching into his pocket, Jace pulled out his badge. He held it reverently in his fingers, the slippery plastic feeling weighted in his grasp.

"Jace," Isabelle gasped.

Looking over at her, he saw the pleading in her eyes. But that badge just felt so . . . heavy. Glancing back down at the card, his name, his face, his rank, all stared out at him. His whole life was etched into that one, tiny, insignificant piece of plastic. Everything he'd ever worked for, lived for, was right there in front of him. Was that really what his life amounted to? Some letters on a piece of plastic? A title in front of his name?

Raising his gaze once more to Isabelle, he shook his head. "I can't." His fingers loosened and the card fell to the floor. "I can't," he repeated and turned on his heel toward the door.

He was aware of his name being called, of Isabelle's frantic pleading, but he couldn't stop, he wouldn't stop. This was what he needed to do. His grasp closed around the handle and he pulled it open.

As his feet crossed the threshold, he felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted from his shoulders. He continued to walk one foot in front of the other to the elevator. When he finally reached it and turned, he noticed everyone in the room had followed him out and were watching with wide eyes. His gaze fell to Alec, and just before the doors closed, he saw the very slight nodding of his partner's head, and he knew without a single doubt, that this was the choice he needed to make.

.o.O.o.

The lights in the club nearly blinded Jace the moment he walked inside. He squinted against the pulsating colors and moved his gaze toward the bar, searching for the one face he wanted to see, needed to see, but she was nowhere.

He started forward, maneuvering himself through the throng of dancers until he broke through to the seating area. His eyes scanned the vicinity, but still nothing. Just before he reached the bar, he felt a hand wrap around his arm. Turning abruptly, his gaze fell on someone he had no desire to talk to.

"Hey, Ten. Haven't seen you here in a while." Aline smiled up at him, shoving her chest out in a manner she probably thought was alluring, but that Jace just thought made her look like a slut.

"Oh, hey, Aline. Have you seen Clary?"

Aline scowled. "What do you want her for, baby? I thought we had a good thing going." She walked her fingers up his arm.

He glared down at her. "We may have had a good thing if you would have stopped toying with me a little sooner. Instead, you felt the need to string me along for a year. Now, are you going to help me find Clary or are you just going to continue acting pathetic and needy when I've made it clear I'm not interested?"

She snatched her hand back and narrowed her eyes. "Find her yourself, asshole." Flipping her hair behind her shoulder, she stalked off.

"Great. Thanks for your help," Jace called after her and turned back to the bar. He moved up to it and took a seat in one of the stools. The girl next to him gave him a flirtatious smile, but he ignored it and leaned forward. "Hey, Kaelie."

The bartender smiled and sauntered over. "What can I get you, Sailor?"

"Nothing. I'm looking for Clary. Have you seen her?"

Kaelie nodded and wiped down the counter in front of him. "Sure, she's back in the office with Magnus. Something about needing new uniforms?"

"Oh," Jace said. "Okay, thanks."

She nodded and moved down the bar to another customer.

Jace settle back into his stool and lowered his face to his hands. She was here and she was okay. At least there was that to be thankful for. He didn't know how long he sat there before he felt someone move in beside him.

"I didn't think you'd show up tonight."

Jace raised his head. "Oh, hey, Sebastian."

"And, I take it you're not here to rectify the situation we talked about this morning."

Jace laughed and shook his head. "Sorry, no. Not tonight."

"I figured as much." Sebastian smacked his hand down on the bar and stood. "Well, that just means more for me."

"Way to stay positive, Seb."

He shrugged. "I'm always positive, man." Slapping Jace on the back, Sebastian turned toward the crowd. "Hold on ladies, here I come," he said before strutting off and disappearing into the mob.

Jace watched him leave, catching Aline's evil eye before turning back to the bar. Finally, from the hallway in the back, Jace spotted Clary's flaming red hair. She had it pulled up and clipped on the back of her head, long tendrils falling free and hanging at the side of her face, just barely brushing her collarbone. She was dressed in her normal work attire: a short black skirt, white tank top, and a red button up left open and tied at the waist. It took her a moment before she spotted him, but when she did, even from across the darkened room, he saw her eyes brighten and a slow smile spread over her lips. He couldn't help but return it.

Ducking her head, Clary hurried through the groups of people crowded around the bar and made her way over to him. She stopped at his side and rested her elbow against the counter top.

"Hey," she said, her voice breathy from her stint across the club.

"Hey." Jace smiled wider.

"So, I'm alive. No need to murder anyone in their sleep or anything." Clary lifted her hand to swipe away a rogue curl and Jace noticed the white bandage across the top.

His brow creased and he reached out, taking her hand in his. "What's this?" His fingers ghosted over the wrapping.

Clary shrugged. "I accidentally spilled coffee on my hand. No big deal."

Jace raised his gaze to hers and studied her closer. On either side of her jaw were two very faint, red, oval-shaped marks. He knew what those marks meant. "And these." He reached out and ran his fingers over them. "Did you accidentally grab your own face as well?"

She closed her eyes and drew out a slow breath. "Jace, please . . ."

"What happened? What did he do to you?"

She opened her eyes. "Nothing, really, he—he just grabbed me."

"He just grabbed you? Oh, that's it? He just grabbed you? Well, thank God he didn't do something worse."

"Stop it," Clary said. "I'm all right. He didn't hurt me."

"Clary, there are marks on your face. And you're going to tell me it didn't hurt?"

She reached out and laid her hand over his on the bar. "Listen," she said. "I know you don't believe this because you can only go by what you've seen, but this isn't my father. I swear, until now, he has never laid a finger on me. He's never grabbed me, or hit me, or anything. I'm worried about him, and Jonathan. Something's not right with them."

Jace knew she was right, but even if he had just given up his badge, he was still not at liberty to discuss anything regarding the information he knew about her father with her. Instead, he cupped his palm around her cheek. "I don't care. I don't care if someone held a gun to his head and told him to choose between himself and you; he still has no right to touch you like that. Don't you get that?"

"I do, and that's why I left, Jace."

He let his hand fall from her face. "You did?"

"Yes. I did. I know he shouldn't do that to me, and I'm not going to let him." She raised her brows. "Okay?"

He nodded, unable to say anything more at that moment. The girl standing before him, although small and young, was not naïve or stupid when it came to how she should be treated. She knew what she deserved and she accepted nothing less. He envied her assurance, her strength. He wished he were that strong. His whole life he'd let people—his mother especially—treat him as if he weren't deserving of respect. He had always been a burden, a tool which she was constantly trying to mold to be a perfect weapon. But he wasn't a weapon, he was a person and he had feelings—no matter how hard she tried to beat it out of him. For so many years, he believed he didn't, but he was wrong. So, so wrong.

In Clary's eyes, he was worth something. She made him feel the way he'd always wished he could feel. Wanted. Desired. Worthwhile. She looked at him like he hung the moon, and maybe for her, he did.

"So." She bit her lip and smiled. "You wanna go in the back room with me?"

Jace looked down at her, his eyes moving over the planes of her face, lingering a few long moments on the light bruises adorning her jaw. He shook his head. "No."

Clary raised her brows, a look of shock transforming her features. "No?"

"No." Raising his hands, he traced the lines of her cheekbones before meeting her eyes. "You're too good for the back room."

Her breath hitched and she swallowed.

He leaned in. "I'd much rather kiss you right here."

Clary drew in a sharp breath and pulled back, then looked around the room. People crowded the bar and the dance floor, but no one except Aline seemed to be paying them any attention.

"But . . . but everyone can see out here."

Jace grinned. "Are you ashamed of me, Spitfire?"

"No! No, of course not, I just thought . . ." Her cheeks turned bright red. "I just thought maybe you wouldn't want to . . . you know, let anyone think you might not be completely available." She tried to look away.

Jace turned her face back toward him. "Clary," he said. Her eyes rose to his. "Do you want me to be available to them?"

She let her gaze dart from side to side before settling back on him once again. Then very quietly, almost imperceptibly, she answered, "No."

"Good. Because I sure as hell don't want any of these asses thinking you're available for them either."

Clary's eyes widened and she reached up, wrapping her hands around his wrists. "Jace . . ."

In that moment, the rest of the room faded away. In Jace's mind, it was just her and just him. There were no bodies jostling into them trying to get to the bar. There were no squeals of laughter and cheesy pick-up lines coming from beside them. There were no dancers gyrating to overly loud music in the background. They were alone, protected inside their own little bubble.

This was the moment, and he knew he needed to not be a coward. It was his turn to have what he wanted, everything he wanted. And what he wanted was standing right in front of him, looking up at him with curious eyes. His heart pounded so hard in his chest he thought it might break through his ribs. But still, he leaned into her and whispered the words he needed her to hear—in Spanish because he knew she loved it, and it was the only one of his foreign languages she understood, "_Quiero que seas mía. Sólo mía._"

Clary gasped and Jace's gaze swept over her face, looking for any sign that she was about to run, that his words frightened her enough to make her leave. But she didn't, she just sucked in a ragged breath and bit her lower lip, nodding almost undetectably. "Yes," she breathed.

The thudding in his chest remained, but this time it wasn't out of panic. It wasn't painful. This time, it felt good, extraordinary even. Jace grinned and repeated the phrase, "_Sólo mía._"

Clary smiled in return and reached up to move a piece of hair from his forehead, her touch lingering at his temple. Without even a morsel of fear, Jace closed the distance between them, his fingers hooking lightly into her jaw, and very softly touched his lips to hers. And right there, in the midst of the chaos of the club, with every curious eye on them, he let the world know that this girl, the one he held securely in his arms, was his. Only his.

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_:)_

_Muchos gracias to my beta Lightlacedwithbeauty. She had this massive chapter done in one day! She's awesome. :D *smooches*_

_And to niniadepapa for checking my Espanol! *muah*_

_Just as a heads up, there will be no update until after the 17__th__. Because of the holidays and finals for LLWB Dec will be sadly lacking in DJ. I hope this chapter has at least ended in a positive light. See you in a few weeks!_

_ETA: Just because I received a review that suggested it, I thought I'd let you all know that Clary would *never* take the morning after pill. If . . . things . . . happened, they happened. She would never consider that option. Just so ya know. ;)  
_

_XOXO ~ ddpjclaf_

_P.S. To all of you who have left anonymous reviews, because FFN doesn't allow me to respond, I haven't had a chance to thank you. I appreciate all reviews and I wanted you all to know how much I love reading each and every one. Thank you!_

_Translations:_

"_Quiero que seas mía. Sólo mía._" – I want you to be mine. Only mine.


	18. Take Me Away

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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17. Take Me Away

**I apologize in advance if the format is screwy or messed up here. When I uploaded it to FFN it was just one big block of text! :S I had to manually separate each line and paragraph. It was a nightmare. I think I got it all correctly, but, well...it's possible I missed some. Forgive me ahead of time.**

_All righty, here we go, ch.16. This chapter is a little transitiony. Sorry about that. Stuff is happening, but it's a bit of a turning point chapter—sometimes we need them to get from one point to another. So, anyway, I hope you enjoy it!_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Animal – Neon Trees_

_**This is Your Life – Switchfoot_

_**Longest Night – Howie Day_**

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**"Get me out of here." Simon's raspy voice came through the earpiece.

Clary fluffed a pillow behind her back and leaned against it while cradling her cell phone between her shoulder and ear. "Why are you whispering?" She grabbed her sketchbook and pencil from the nightstand next to the bed and balanced it on her knees.

"Because, if they hear me, they'll know I'm awake and they'll come in here."

"I thought you liked being taken care of? You're always trying to get me to do your laundry and bring you breakfast in bed."

He sighed. "You don't understand. This is torture. Pure torture. You're my best friend! Save me!"

"You couldn't possibly be being overly dramatic now, could you?"

"Have you seen the movie Misery?" Simon paused. "Worse. So much worse."

"Are they breaking your ankles with sledgehammers?" Clary asked, biting her lip as she studied the lines of her latest drawing._ A little more shading there_, she thought to herself. Her finger glided over the rough paper, smoothing and blending the lead below.

"No," he grumbled.

"Then not worse than Misery. You lose."

"Damn it," Simon said.

Clary laughed and lifted her pencil to scratch her head with the end when the door to the bedroom opened and Jace walked in. She looked up and couldn't help the smile that took over her face. He grinned back and dropped his bag on the floor next to the dresser before sitting on the end of the bed to remove his shoes.

"Tell you what, Si. We'll come get you tomorrow. Do you think you can survive one more night being coddled?" She stretched her leg out and poked Jace in the back with her toe. He turned and gave her a fake evil look. She covered the mouthpiece on the phone and giggled quietly.

Simon sighed. "I suppose. But why can't it be tonight?"

Clary poked Jace again, and this time he turned around, a mischievous grin on his face. "You're going to be sorry you did that, Spitfire," he said quietly, and grabbed a hold of her foot.

She raised her brows. "Because the apartment isn't quite ready yet. The cleaners are coming to do the floors tomorrow."

"What? You mean I'm not going to be able to see my bloodstain?"

Jace trailed his fingers lightly up the outside of Clary's calf and lowered his mouth to her ankle, his lips pressing softly against her skin and sending chills racing up her spine. Clary sucked in a breath and felt him smile against her leg.

"Simon, that's just disgusting."

"Why? It's not every day I almost bleed to death on the floor. It would be like my badge of honor or something."

"You're an idiot."

Jace reached up and grabbed her sketchbook, tossing it to the floor next to the bed as his lips grazed the sensitive skin on the inside of her knee. She closed her eyes and threaded her hands into his hair, the silky strands curling around her fingers. He continued slowly moving up her body, his mouth trailing along her inner thigh and his hand sliding up the outer.

"Clary?" Simon asked.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you breathing funny?"

"What?" Her eyes flew open and her grip tightened. Jace bit her inner thigh lightly in response and she gasped. He chuckled and wrapped his hand around her hip, pulling her down until her back hit the mattress.

He hovered over her and leaned in, his breath tickling her ear. "Hang up, baby, unless you'd like your friend to hear more than that little gasp." Jace shifted his hips into her as his hand trailed up her side and slipped under her tank top, his palm curving around her waist. He moved his mouth down her neck, his fingers slipping the straps of her top off her shoulders and his lips following.

"Simon." Clary struggled to keep her voice even. "I have to go." Jace nipped at her collarbone and she bit her lip to hold back any other sounds threatening to spill from her.

"What? Why?" Simon asked. "Don't leave me here alone with them, Clary."

Jace slipped his hand under her back and pulled her body hard against his. She could feel every part of him pressed up against every part of her. "I can call you back. I—I have to do something. It's a . . . a pressing matter." Jace laughed into her neck and she slapped him in the arm as quietly as possible.

"Oh, Spitfire. It is a totally," he thrust his hips into her once more, "pressing matter."

"Oh, Jesus," she breathed. "Simon, I really have to go. Call you later." Pushing the end button on her phone, she tossed it onto the night stand and reached up to fist her hands in Jace's shirt. "That was really not nice."

"Wasn't it?" He leaned down and kissed the corner of her mouth chastely. "I thought it was extremely nice." Jace grinned. "Do you want me to stop?" He moved his hands down and cupped her behind, her entire body now enslaved in his grasp.

"Oh, God." Her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell limp in his embrace. "You're turning me into such a wanton woman. I used to be a nice girl. What have you done to me?"

"You're not wanton, baby," he said, his lips brushing her jaw. "_Tu sei bella, così bella, e siete miei. Tutta mia._"

"What does that mean?"

His raised his face to hers and his mouth twitched up in one corner. "It means: You're beautiful, so beautiful, and you're mine. All mine."

Her breath hitched and she felt her throat tighten. "How do you do that?"

Jace pulled back to look at her, the backs of his fingers brushing her cheek. "Do what?"

"Say the most incredible things that make me go all gooey inside, and still manage to claim me as a possession. Shouldn't I feel all . . . I don't know . . . offended or something? I am an independent woman after all. But when you say that, when you say I'm yours, I . . . I like it. I like it so much."

He frowned. "I don't really think of you as a possession. You know that, right?"

Clary smiled at the obvious anxiety in his eyes. "I know." She lifted her face and touched her lips to his. "But I am yours." Moving down, she placed a kiss to his jaw, "Just yours," and another under his chin. She breathed him in and then sighed against his skin. "Unfortunately, you're going to have to share me this afternoon."

His hands came up and held her face. "Nuh uh." He brushed his nose along her cheek until he reached her ear and whispered, "I don't want to share."

"Being selfish are you, now, Cass?"

Jace nodded and entwined his fingers with hers, pulling her hand to his mouth and kissing the back. "These are mine." He leaned down and touched his lips to her shoulder. "And this is mine." A kiss to the base of her neck. "And this . . ." Her jaw. "And this," he breathed in her ear, brushing just barely over her lobe. "All of this . . ." Sliding across her cheek to her lips, he hovered above her mouth. "And especially this." He kissed her again, soft and slow at first, and then slightly harder, deeper.

Clary slid her hands down his face, her thumbs gliding over his cheeks until they reached the corners of his mouth. She could feel it moving underneath her fingers, and she smiled.

"What are you grinning about?" he asked.

She shook her head as he pulled back. "Nothing. This is just nice. I like kissing you."

"Mmhmm," he said. "I am an extraordinarily good kisser."

She laughed and shoved against his chest. Jace chuckled and rolled off from her and onto the bed. He laced his fingers behind his head and lay down on his back, closing his eyes with a sigh. Clary flipped over to face him and propped herself up on her elbow. He looked so tired. Even lying there, relaxed with his eyes closed, she could feel the exhaustion radiating off from him. Light purple half-circles lined his eyes and his skin was paler than normal. Ever since the day before, after his meeting, he'd seemed worn out, beat down, like something had just knocked the wind right out of him and an air of sadness constantly surrounded him. She wanted to know what it was, wanted to help him fix it, to make him feel better. When she'd been upset, he'd been there for her. She just wanted to do the same for him but didn't know how, didn't even know if that was something he would want.

Reaching out, Clary traced her finger over his arm, just needing to feel him under her fingers. A smile tweaked her lips as she watched goosebumps rise under her touch. She loved the fact that she could affect him at least an iota as much as he did her, that her fingers, her caress could cause any sort of reaction at all. After a moment, she raised her gaze and found him looking at her. Jace didn't speak or touch her; he just watched her watching him.

Her eyes stayed glued to his, and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't move and she _couldn't breathe_. Finally, Jace removed one hand from behind his head and reached out for hers, lacing their fingers together and running his thumb over her knuckles.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

Clary finally took in a breath. "I was thinking you look tired."

"I am tired." He signed and closed his eyes once more.

"Didn't you sleep well?" She played with his fingers, only looking up when she heard him chuckle.

He was looking at her again, a small smirk on his mouth. "You should know. You were here."

Clary shook her head and grinned, her face heating. "I meant after . . . that."

Jace let go of her hand and raised his to his face, rubbing them over it before dropping both back to his sides. "I guess not."

"What's going on, Jace? Ever since yesterday you've seemed . . . I don't know." She paused. "Is everything all right—you know, with school?"

He furrowed his brows and then raised them. "Oh, school, right. Yeah, everything is fine with school."

"So, your meeting yesterday . . . it went okay?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Clary bit her lip and nodded as she looked down. He wasn't telling her something. She could feel it. She wanted to ask what it was, wanted him to open up, but didn't want to push. He'd been open and honest about never doing the relationship thing before, and probably had no clue how to do this any more than she did. But it stung a little, knowing there was something bothering him and not being able to ask what it was.

"It's not because of school," he said quietly, startling Clary out of her thoughts.

"What's not?"

"Why I couldn't sleep. It's not about school." He eyed her carefully, almost as if he were questioning whether or not to tell her anything more.

"Oh?" she asked, trying to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

Jace chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Do you remember me telling you about how my parents were kind of douches?"

Clary smiled at his phrasing. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well," he let out a slow breath, "I saw my mother yesterday."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Really. She said some stuff and I said some stuff, and it was just . . . not pretty."

"Oh. Do you . . . do you want to talk about it?"

Jace shrugged. "There's not really much to talk about. It was the same old stuff, the same argument. I can't do anything right, she's embarrassed to be my mother, et cetera, et cetera."

Clary frowned. "She said that to you? That you were an embarrassment?"

"In so many words."

"Jace . . ."

He turned toward her and propped himself up on his elbow. "It's no big deal, Clary. This is how it's always been with my mother. She's just . . . like that. Always concerned with stupid things like image and her social standing, and I've always been a little—resistant to her ways." He flashed his patented grin. "I just made the mistake of letting her get to me yesterday. I'll be fine."

"Sounds like both of us have parents who won't be winning the best parent of the year award anytime soon."

Jace laughed and lay back down, tucking one hand under his head and leaving the other clutched in hers. Clary scooted closer to him, tucking her body into his side and laying her head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her as she placed her palm on his chest. They lay there in silence for several minutes, neither of them moving, neither needing to speak. It was enough to just be there in one another's arms. Maybe it would always be enough.

"Jace?" Clary asked, finally.

"Hmm?"

"Let's go away." She started tracing circles over his chest.

"What?"

"You know, let's just go. Somewhere. Anywhere. Just you and me. I don't care where as long as we don't have to see another person for a whole night. No more interruptions. No parents. No one. Just us."

Jace shifted below her, and suddenly, Clary found herself on her back with him hovering over her. "Are you serious?"

She nodded. "Absolutely. You know, the other night, when you took me to your grandfather's house? That was the first time in such a long time that everything just seemed to be . . . quiet. It was so nice."

"We can go back," he said, his eyes intent on hers. "Anytime you want, I'll take you back."

Clary reached up and traced her fingers over his cheek. "How about right now?"

"I thought you had plans?"

She groaned. "Ugh. Right. I almost forgot. I'm just going to a few dress places with Isabelle to get our gowns for the ball."

He laughed and shook his head. "Just a few? You don't know Isabelle very well. She loves shopping."

"Well, I hate it, so we'll just have to compromise." She smiled up at him. "Okay, so not today, but . . . what do you say, Cass? Wanna escape with me sometime?"

Jace tucked his hand around her hip and pulled her into him. His palm slid up her back as her hands rested against his chest. "How can I say no to that? You are a wanton woman, after all. This could prove to be very beneficial for me."

Clary pushed against his chest and drew back slightly, narrowing her eyes. "I thought you said I wasn't wanton?"

"I lied." He tugged against her hip again and then he was on top of her, his legs against her legs, his chest against her chest, only his elbows holding any of his weight off from her.

"You shouldn't lie. How am I ever going to be able to trust you if you lie?"

"Hmm." Jace touched his forehead to hers. "Even if you ask me something like, 'Does this dress make me look fat,' and it does, I should still tell the truth?"

Clary smiled. "Especially then."

"Okay. In that case," he slid one hand down her side, "there's something I should probably tell you."

"Oh?" She raised her brows. "And what's that?"

"These shorts?" He ran his finger along the side seam until he touched her bare upper thigh. "Really need to go."

"Really? You don't like them?"

"Oh, no. I like them. I like them very much. Too much, in fact. That's the reason they need to go." He let his hand slip up under the leg opening.

Clary's breath hitched as she felt him trace the edge of her panties.

"You see?" he said. "There's just so little fabric here that I can't seem to control my hands. They see leg and they want more leg, and then, well," he whispered, "then they want where leg leads."

Clary shivered but managed to reach down and remove his hand from her shorts. "Well, lucky for your _hands_, I'm just about to change." She grinned and wriggled her way out from underneath him.

Jace let her go easily but didn't disguise his groan as he plopped face-first back onto the bed. "My hands are very disappointed," he said into the pillow.

She laughed and quickly changed into a pair of jeans, throwing a hoodie over her tank top. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to where Jace lay, Clary reached out and grabbed his hand, stroking it gently with her fingers. "Don't worry, guys. Later, when I get you both alone, you can touch whatever you want."

Jace lifted his head and turned it toward her. "Really? Whatever I—they want?"

She grinned and leaned into him. "Mmhmm. Whatever they want."

"You know, that's a very dangerous thing to say around my hands. They've been known to get quite carried away."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Clary brushed her fingers under the hair lying across his cheek and pressed her lips to his temple, "but they're going to have to behave themselves for a few more hours." She stood and made her way to the door.

"Behaving is overrated, Spitfire," he called after her.

Clary laughed and wiggled her fingers over her shoulder without looking back. At the end of Jace's couch, she bent to pick up her bag and jumped when the doorbell rang.

Figuring it was Isabelle, Clary called goodbye to Jace and hurried over to the door, pulling it open without another thought. What she found was not Isabelle, although it could have been. The distinguished looking woman stood in the hallway, her dark hair pulled up into a twist, and her body swathed in a charcoal gray fitted skirt and jacket. Two strips of a simple cream colored blouse peeked out from between the lapels. Clary's brows rose as her gaze lifted and met the woman's icy blue stare.

"Good morning," the woman said, her voice polite but with a hard edge to it. "You must be Clarissa." She held out her hand. "I'm Maryse Lightwood. Alec and Isabelle's mother."

"Oh." Clary took her hand and shook it carefully, trying to remember to use the right amount of pressure to not seem lame, but also not to squeeze too hard. "It's nice to meet you. Alec and Isabelle aren't here right now, but—"

Maryse cut her off with a wave of her hand. "No matter. I'm not here to see them." Her eyes slid over Clary in a "taking her in" sort of way. "I've actually come to see Jace. Is he in?"

Clary opened her mouth to speak when she heard Jace answer from behind her.

"I'm here," he said.

Clary spun toward his voice and saw him standing in the opening to the hallway. She started to smile, but when she noticed the look on his face all thoughts left her mind. He did not look pleased to see Mrs. Lightwood. In fact, he looked downright livid.

.o.O.o.

Director Lightwood stood in Jace's doorway, her hands clasped in front of her and her eyes fixed on him. He stared back until Clary turned around, her peaceful face turning troubled when she caught sight of him. She furrowed her brows as if to ask him what was going on. He let himself look at her, remembering all the reasons he'd done what he had.

Maryse cleared her throat, snapping his attention back to her. "May I come in? There's something I'd like to discuss with you." Her gaze flickered to Clary and then back to him. "Alone, if that's not too much trouble?"

"Oh!" Clary straightened suddenly. "I'm sorry. I was just on my way out anyway." She stepped back to let Director Lightwood cross the threshold and enter the apartment. Her eyes settled on Jace and she gave him a small smile. "See you later." Nodding once more to Maryse, Clary ducked out the door.

Just as it was about to click shut, Jace called out, "Clary, wait a second." He turned to the Director. "Just give me a minute." She gave him a curt nod and he hurried out into the hall after Clary.

She waited just on the other side of the door, her brows raised in question. Jace closed it and moved up to her, slipping his hand around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling into her hair, and pulled her to him. His lips crashed down on hers as his other hand rose to cup her cheek. Clary clutched his shirt, holding him tightly against her.

After a moment, he pulled away, leaving his forehead against hers. "Be careful, and stay with Isabelle."

"I will," Clary said, breathless.

Jace moved back to look into her eyes. "That's it? No argument?"

She bit her lip and shook her head. "Not if you do that again."

He grinned and slid both of his hands forward, holding her face between them. "You're so easy to please, Spitfire." Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her eyes closed and her lips parted slightly when they touched. It was light and soft, barely even a kiss at all, but it was enough to make Jace's heart pound against his ribs.

Clary brought her hands up and circled his wrists. The warmth of her touch raced up his arms and spread. He tilted his head and deepened the kiss while still keeping it slow and gentle. Clary sighed softly into his mouth, and he breathed her in, her taste filling and intoxicating him.

"Ahem." A throat cleared behind Clary.

Jace opened his eyes and moved back slightly, leaving his hands on her face. He glanced over Clary's shoulder and saw Isabelle standing there, her hands on her hips and her brows raised. Jace dropped his hands and stepped back. Isabelle glared at him, but quickly smoothed her expression when Clary turned.

"Isabelle, I was just on my way down to the lobby."

Isabelle eyed them both. "Uh huh. It certainly looks like you were."

Jace frowned and she gave him a condescending smile. He rolled his eyes.

"So, should we go?" Isabelle said.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Clary turned to him and raised her brows. "So . . . see you later?"

He smiled. "Of course."

She bit her lip and returned his grin before turning and starting down the hall. Isabelle flashed him one last dirty look—which he mimicked—and spun on her heel to join Clary.

Jace drew in a deep breath and moved back to his door, opening it slowly and stepping inside. Maryse stood in the middle of the living room, her back to him as she studied a few artifacts Isabelle had placed around the apartment to make it look more like a legitimate living space. It was strange seeing her there. For most of his life she'd been "Alec and Isabelle's mother," and it was only within the last couple of years that she'd become "Director Lightwood," but still, because of that, it seemed wrong to have her there. Jace felt a ripple of unease flow through him. What was she doing there? He expected some sort of disciplinary action after what he'd done yesterday, but not from the Director. She had more important duties than punishing a rogue trainee.

Tired of waiting and wondering, Jace kicked the door shut. Director Lightwood turned toward the sound, her brows raised in shock. Jace moved into the living room and stood near the entrance, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You don't seem pleased to see me," she said.

"People aren't generally excited when they know they're about to be scolded."

The façade of calm on her face cracked slightly. "Is that why you think I'm here?"

Jace raised a brow. "Aren't you?"

Maryse held her hands palm up as if she didn't know what to say, and then dropped them to her sides. It startled Jace to see her as anything less than completely composed. As long as he'd known her, she'd never shown even a bit of uncertainty. "It's no secret that what you did would normally result in a sit-down with the council. But then again, this situation is not exactly what I would call normal." She took a few steps toward him, her eyes moving over his face and a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I've known you since you were a little boy, and you haven't changed a bit. Do you know that?"

"I hope I have at least grown into my ears."

"I don't mean physically." She shook her head and glanced down at the floor before meeting his eyes. "You were always a determined little thing. Once you got something in your mind, that was it, there was no dissuading you. But you were also immensely compassionate and selfless."

Jace looked at her in disbelief.

"It's true," Director Lightwood said. "When you, Alec, and Isabelle did something wrong, you would always shoulder the blame, always take the punishment." She sighed and looked at him apologetically. "It was stupid of me to forget. I got so distracted by your performance during training that I forgot how personally you take things."

"Great." He leaned his shoulder against the wall. "So, you agree with my Mother. You agree that I'm weak."

She shook her head. "No. I don't think you're weak. Quite the opposite actually."

"But you just said—"

"I know what I said," the Director interrupted. "Compassion does not equal weakness. In fact, I think it makes you stronger. It helps you to stick to your convictions. To do the best job possible because you care about the outcome. So many Agents are caught up in staying detached and professional that they forget there are real people behind every case. Many of us come across as cold and uncaring. And in some cases, some of us are."

"You mean like my mother," Jace said, dropping his arms to his sides and clenching his fists.

Maryse let out a sigh. "Your mother has been a dear friend for many years. We went through the Academy together. I supported her when she and your father took on the role of Ambassador, and I helped take care of you while they were away. But Celine . . ." She paused. "Celine has never been the sort to show compassion. Everything is always black and white. There is no gray to her. And you . . . you are all gray, Jace."

"So, you're saying there's no chance then. No chance that she'll ever be able to see me as anything other than a disappointment, a screw-up." Jace lowered his eyes to the floor and closed them, trying to fight back the swell of feeling that rose up inside of him. He didn't want to feel anything about his mother. He didn't want to want her approval. It made him feel weak and needy—all the things she accused him of being, and he didn't want her to be right. But he couldn't help it. He wanted it all the same.

Jace felt cool fingers touch his face. He opened his eyes and met Maryse's blue ones. They were soft and caring, not cold and removed like usual. They were the eyes of a mother, not a superior.

"It's her loss," she said quietly. "Not yours. It's her misfortune that she cannot see what a good man you've turned into." She swallowed and dropped her hand, stepping back from him. "Which is why you shouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing you throw everything you've worked for away. Not because of her."

"I didn't walk out because of her."

"Not entirely," she said. "But she was a big part of it." Reaching into her pocket, the Director pulled out a small, rectangular, plastic object. Jace knew what it was immediately. His badge. She raised her eyes to his. "You worked hard for this. Harder than many who come through the Academy. Are you willing to let her take this away from you?"

Jace tore his gaze away from her hand. He couldn't deny the draw to the badge, the pull it had over him. Yes, he'd worked hard, harder than he'd ever worked for anything in his life. He'd spent years training, years mentally building himself up for the types of things he would have to do. But in the end, it wasn't enough. He still couldn't do this. "I can't." He shook his head. "I can't be what you're asking me to be. I can't be a pawn."

She sighed. "What we asked of you . . . it was wrong. I knew it was wrong, and I pushed it through anyway. We were all so focused on finally getting Valentine Morgenstern that we didn't consider the consequences of what we were asking. We never thought about how you might feel."

"Why would you? Being an Agent isn't about feeling. It's about following orders, solving puzzles, and putting the bad guys behind bars."

"Yes," she answered, nodding her head. "But it's also about protecting the innocent. That is, in essence, why we do what we do." The Director looked up. "And Miss Morgenstern is an innocent. Somewhere along the way, we forgot that. We forgot that she was not just a Morgenstern, a means to an end, but an innocent bystander to all of this. You didn't forget that, and that makes you better than the majority of us. To be able to recognize that and act as you did . . . it takes courage. Courage a lot of us don't have."

Jace didn't know what to say. Normally, he could come up with something, anything—that was his gift—but nothing came to mind. He was blank, empty. So, he just stood there and stared. No one had ever called him brave, had ever noticed he was anything other than what he portrayed—no one but Clary. And now this woman, this woman who had been like a second mother to him—hell, a first mother if he were going to be technical—stood before him, calling him courageous. All for just standing up for himself, and for doing whatever it took to right the things that felt wrong. He didn't deserve that praise. What he did didn't make him special, didn't make him valiant.

"I'm not better," he said. "I started out thinking exactly the same as everyone else. That she was collateral damage. I didn't care about using her, about what it might do to her. I just wanted to prove I could do this. That I could be the Agent my mother—and you all—could be proud to work with. It makes me sick to think that I—" He broke off and turned away, not even able to utter the words.

Maryse reached out and patted his arm as she passed him and stood next to the hall table. "I know. It makes me sick to think that I was a part of making you do that. But I'd like to make it right."

Jace looked up and furrowed his brows. "Make it right?"

She nodded. "If you'll agree to come back."

He shook his head. "I can't. I can't do that."

The Director held up her hands to silence him. He stopped. "If you'll agree to come back, I have a different assignment for you."

Jace paused. A different assignment? Would that mean he'd have to leave? No. He couldn't leave. Not when someone was after Clary. Not when her life was in danger.

He started to protest, but Director Lightwood cut him off once more. "You're worried about Miss Morgenstern. I understand. But this would not involve removing you from her case entirely."

Jace crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "I'm listening."

A small smile crossed her lips. "You were right when you said she needed protection from whomever seems to be after her, and we have taken over those duties from the NYPD in order to assign our own to her case."

Jace raised a brow but kept silent.

"If you choose to accept this badge, I will move you onto her case. You will be tasked with officially managing the stalking case—even though I know you've been doing this on your own for some time now anyway."

"But what about my mother? She would never agree to this—"

"Your mother has been relieved of her command over you."

Jace's mouth dropped open in surprise.

Maryse continued. "She will no longer be concerned in any case in which you are involved. While you are on the job, we cannot allow anything to make you lose your focus. The work you're doing is important—whether she likes it or not. All of your cases will fall under me for your duration at this Agency." She moved to the table and set his badge down carefully before looking back up at him. "Think about it, and get back to me with your decision." Turning away, she moved down the hall to the front door.

Jace followed, his mind racing with everything she'd said. His mother could no longer interfere with his cases, with his job. Pausing at the table, he ran his fingers over the smooth plastic card, contemplating how it would feel if he held it again. After a moment, he cautiously picked it up and all the weight it had carried just the day before was gone. It no longer felt like a burden, like a lie. It felt like home, like where he belonged.

"Director," he said and then looked up.

She turned and met his eyes.

Jace glanced back down at the card lying flat against his palm. It looked so insignificant, so unimposing, but to him, it meant so much more. For as long as he could remember, this was what he'd wanted, what he'd worked for. It was his life. His fingers slowly closed around the badge and he lifted his head, needing no more time to think.

"I'll do it."

.o.O.o.

By the time Isabelle dragged her into the fifth dress shop, Clary was officially done shopping for the day. There was only so much silk and satin she could take. But, as Jace warned, Isabelle was in her element. Each store they entered she made Clary try on at least fifteen gowns, systematically debunking each and stating they, "weren't quite right," for one reason or another. Clary had no idea what they weren't right for. She'd been going to these balls for as long as she could remember and she'd always just bought the first dress she tried on—well, if it looked all right.

"Nope," Isabelle said to herself as she pawed through a rack near the back of the store.

Clary rolled her eyes, already holding an armful of dresses. "Izzy, I think this is probably enough. You've had me try on at least seventy-five dresses. What are you looking for?"

"I'll know it when I see it," she said distractedly.

Clary sighed. "No offense, but these all look the same to me." She lifted her fabric weighted arms.

Isabelle turned to her slowly, and her eyes narrowed. "Which is exactly the reason why you need me. If left to your own devices, you would have just bought the first dress you tried on."

"Mostly likely."

Isabelle groaned. "What? That dress was all wrong for you!"

"Then why did you make me try it on?"

"Because, how am I supposed to know what suits you if we don't use trial and error?"

"I think you just like dressing me up like a Barbie doll."

Isabelle paused and glanced at her thoughtfully. "Very true. It's fun dressing someone so small."

"Isabelle!"

"Fine!" she said, throwing her hands into the air. "Go try those on."

Clary stomped her way to the dressing room, knowing she was acting like a child, but not really caring. She was tired, her feet hurt, and she just wanted to get out of there. Throwing the dressing room door closed, she hung up the seven gowns Isabelle had picked out and stripped off her clothes, slipping on the first dress. Clary thought it was a nice little strapless number. The deep green color brought out her eyes.

She stepped out of the changing room, twirled for Isabelle and lifted her hands in question. Isabelle bit her lip and shook her head. Clary let out a sigh and trudged back into the tiny room. Five dresses later, she stood in just her bra and panties in front of the mirror in the stall and stared at the last dress. It hung precariously by its three, tiny, beaded straps and taunted her. She fingered the layer of black silk and the sheer outer. Lines of sparkling beads that matched the straps trailed down from the top all the way to the bottom. In the front, it seemed quite simple, but the back dipped so low it would leave her entire back exposed—except for the beaded straps that formed a cross in the center.

With a deep breath, Clary pulled the dress over her head, the fabric sliding easily over her skin. She stepped back and examined herself in the mirror. The gown draped perfectly over her small frame, hugging every curve. She turned from side to side, checking out the way the back tapered into a small train on the floor.

Finally, she exited the room. Isabelle stood at a nearby rack, digging through another assortment of gowns. Clary cleared her throat and Isabelle glanced up, her brows rising instantly.

"Turn around," she said, motioning with her finger.

Clary did, and once she faced Isabelle again, she looked at her expectantly. "So?"

A smile cracked Isabelle's lips and she nodded. "Definitely."

"Oh, thank God!" Clary exclaimed. "Remind me never to go shopping with you again."

Isabelle came over to Clary, placed her hands on her shoulders, and turned her back toward the mirrors. "If I hadn't forced you to try on nearly every dress in this city, you wouldn't have found this, would you?" She paused. "It's perfect."

"Perfect for my father's stodgy, old business associates?"

"No." She paused. "Perfect for Jace."

Clary turned and looked over her shoulder. "Yeah?" she asked, and then glanced back at her reflection, running her hands down the sides of the dress. "You think?"

"I know." Isabelle's voice was quiet and troubled.

Clary faced her once more. "What's wrong?"

Isabelle waved her off. "Nothing."

"Yeah, there is. What is it? You . . . you don't approve of me seeing him?" Clary felt a rush of unease flow through her. She didn't want her friend feeling awkward about her and Jace, but the truth was, she'd never even thought to ask.

"No . . . No, it's not that."

Clary started to ask again what the problem was, but they were interrupted by a sales girl. Isabelle immediately started asking the woman for help finding matching shoes and accessories, and the conversation was lost.

Forty-five minutes later, the two girls emerged from the store, their arms full of bags and boxes. Clary didn't even want to think about how much money she'd just spent. She'd have to work double shifts at the club for the next six months to make up for it. But if Jace reacted in the way Isabelle hinted, maybe it was all worth the expense.

"I think we should get a taxi," Isabelle said as they made their way onto the sidewalk. "We're just walking magnets for a thief like this."

Clary nodded, struggling to hold onto all of her packages. Isabelle shifted her armfuls to one side, raised her hand in the air, and whistled loudly.

Clary cringed against the sound and peered down the street into the crowd. Her eyes swept over the pedestrians, freezing on one in particular.

About a half a block down, she saw a man dressed all in black, the bill of a baseball cap— covered by the hood of his sweatshirt—stuck out in the front. He leaned against the building, his hands in his pockets and one foot against the wall. Clary swallowed, not understanding the strange anxiety swirling in her stomach. There was nothing outwardly strange about him. He didn't look at her, and she had no idea who he was, but that didn't stop the hairs on the back of her neck from standing on end.

The man reached up and withdrew a cigarette from his mouth, blowing out the smoke and stamping the butt out on the ground. Just as he was about to turn and make his way up the street toward them, Isabelle grabbed Clary's arm. Clary startled and let out a surprised yelp.

Isabelle eyed her curiously, her brows furrowed. "The cab's here. You okay?"

Clary nodded and looked back to where the man had been standing, only to find him gone. She let her eyes stray up and down the street, passing over the hordes covering the sidewalk, but there was no sign of him. Sucking in a breath, she turned back to Isabelle and tried to smile. "Of course. Let's go."

She helped Isabelle and the cabbie load their bags into the trunk and then made her way to the back seat. Before she got in, she took one last look around, the strange paranoia not leaving her. A shudder ripped through her body as she finally climbed inside. Something about that man had spooked her. But what? Why was she reacting this way to a stranger on the street?

As the cab pulled away from the curb, Clary tried to push the feelings aside, sure she must have just been overreacting. But then again, if she was, why had she only reacted to that man? He'd been doing nothing but standing on the street smoking a cigarette.

Another curl of anxiety twisted in her stomach. Something about him wasn't right. She could feel it. And what was worse, even now, in the back of a cab with Isabelle at her side, she still didn't feel safe. Somehow, it felt as if that man was still there, watching her, waiting for her. A chill raced up her spine and she shivered.

Wrapping her arms around her body, Clary laid her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes. It was ridiculous, she knew it was. Everything that had happened in the last few weeks was making her suspicious. But even though she knew that, knew it was most likely her own mind messing with her, she couldn't quite dislodge the fear building up inside of her. Something about that man had seemed familiar, but not only that, he'd seemed . . . dangerous.

As buildings and people blurred past, Clary tried to place the feeling. Where had she felt that before? They had almost reached the apartment when it finally dawned on her: the hoodie, the cap, the smell of smoke. It all came back to her, crushing her under the tremendous weight of realization. She knew why she had felt so frightened and why the man had been so familiar. She _had_ seen him before. Well, more like _felt_ him as his hand wrapped tightly around her ankle and his other tried to rip her mother's locket from her neck.

Clary's breath caught and her heart pounded in her chest. Even without ever seeing his face, both in the club and there on the street, she knew it was the same man. She didn't know how, but she knew. The question was: what did he want from her? The necklace was gone. She had nothing else.

Turning around, she glanced out the back window of the cab, knowing she wouldn't see anything, but couldn't stop herself from checking anyway. She wanted to laugh at herself, to tell herself she was being ridiculous. He couldn't be following her. He'd disappeared on foot before she and Isabelle had even entered the car, and with the high mid-day traffic, there was no way he could have kept up with them. Also, what if it wasn't the same guy? Lots of guys wore baseball caps and hooded sweatshirts. It could have been anyone. That theory made the most sense and she calmed minutely. But still, another part of her, a very small, annoying part, questioned that assumption and begged another query: What if she was wrong?

.o.O.o.

Alec paced back and forth across the living room floor. Jace swore that if he didn't stop soon, he'd wear a hole in the carpet.

"So, she just came here and offered your badge back?" Alec stopped and peered down on Jace. "No punishment, no . . . anything?"

Jace shrugged. "Nope."

"And you agreed to come back?"

Jace paused. "I agreed to take the new assignment."

"But what about Izzy and I? What about your mother?"

"I assume you stick to the original case. Find out what Valentine Morgenstern is hiding and get the proof on it." He stopped and thrust a hand in his hair, scratching his scalp absently. "As for my mother . . . the Director assured me that she would no longer be allowed to oversee any of my cases."

Alec looked up at him. "And you believed it?"

"Are you saying I shouldn't believe your mother?"

"No, of course not. I'm just wondering . . . why would the Agency be willing to overthrow your mother? I mean, she's the Ambassador. She outranks my mother and most everyone else at this location. I don't understand . . ."

Jace opened his mouth to answer when the door flew open and Isabelle came through, her arms overflowing with packages. Clary stepped in behind her.

"Well, don't just sit there, help us with some of this stuff," Isabelle said.

Jace had already rose to his feet and made his way over to Clary, taking several boxes from her arms.

She looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks." But the expression didn't reach her eyes. She looked troubled, upset.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Clary shrugged out of her hoodie and hung it on the back of a chair. "Nothing. Why would anything be wrong?" She marched past him in the direction of his room.

He frowned and followed behind her, kicking the door shut as he entered after her. Clary stood at the end of the bed, her purchases piled up on the mattress. Her head hung down and one of her hands gripped her forehead.

Jace set her packages next to his dresser and moved up behind her, raising his hands to her upper arms, instantly feeling the tension in her muscles. "What's going on? Shopping with Isabelle can't be _that_ bad."

Clary laughed and turned toward him, dropping her hand back to her side. "For your information, it was a living nightmare, but you're right. I . . ." She closed her eyes briefly and took in a deep breath. "I swear this whole situation with the stalking and the break-ins and whatever is making me lose my mind." Her eyes met his. "I nearly freaked out in the middle of the street because I saw a guy in a black hoodie and baseball cap down the block. I had convinced myself that he was the same guy who attacked me in the club."

Jace furrowed his brows, not liking the feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Clary wasn't the type to blow situations out of proportion, and she certainly wasn't the type to become so freaked out easily. "You thought it was the same guy because he wore a hooded sweatshirt?"

"I know, it sounds ridiculous, but . . . I don't know, I just . . ." She shook her head. "It's stupid."

"It's not." He wrapped his arms around her body, and stared down into her face. " Was that the only reason?"

"I don't know. I just . . . I had this really awful feeling and I wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Even in the cab, I kept feeling like he was there—like he was watching me." She leaned her forehead against his chest and tightened her fists into his shirt. "I've always been so able to take care of myself, to face any situation, and this whole thing makes me feel like I'm losing control. I hate it." She sighed. "I want my life back. I just want my life back."

Jace closed his eyes and touched his lips to her hair. "I know." He wished he could give it to her. More than anything, he wished he could.

Clary lifted her face to his, her eyes wide and troubled. "Take me away, Jace," she whispered.

"What?"

"What we talked about before. Let's go. Now. I just . . ." She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. "I just need a minute to breathe. To forget. And I can't do that here. Not where I'm always looking over my shoulder. Not where I'm . . . not where I'm afraid."

In that instant, his heart nearly stopped. He didn't want her to be afraid. Jace raised his hands to her cheeks, holding her gently between his palms. "You don't need to be afraid, Clary," he said quietly. "I won't let anyone hurt you. I promise."

"Please, Jace. Please. Just . . . take me away."

As always, he could never resist when she said, "Please." Lowering his lips to hers, he kissed her softly and nodded. "Okay."

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_So, I know this is a little bit of a cliffy. Let me explain why…I had originally planned a whole other scene for this chapter. However, when I reached this point, I realized I couldn't fit it here (oh, and it grew to a much LARGER scene). It's also a pretty important scene so I want to do it justice. You'll just have to be patient with me. ;)_

_Also, I want to touch on the whole Clary/pregnancy thing…I have been getting some VERY uh, strongly worded opinions on that whole scenario. I'm not sure why everyone is so sure Clary is going to be pregnant. Yes, there was a moment of unprotectedness going on, but that does not mean she's going to be pregnant, in fact, I can PROMISE she and DJ did not make a little DJ in the shower. _

_However, that does NOT mean she won't get pregnant at some point. I'm actually a little insulted at the insinuation that I would use something like that as a "shock tactic." LOL! Those of you who read my work know that I don't work like that. *If* Clary were to get pregnant, it would be a plot point that I thought long and hard about, one that would have a purpose in the grand scheme of things—not as an "unnecessary added conflict." Trust me, guys. *If* a pregnancy is in the cards, trust that I have a plan for everything. Plus, I keep getting the excuse that that plot point is, "always done". Um, I've NEVER read a fic where Clary gets pregnant (accidentially). So…? Granted, I don't read a whole lot of TMI fics, but still… So, anyway, my point is, trust me to wield this story the way it's meant to be told. And don't worry whether or not she's going to get pregnant, just enjoy the ride. I know what I'm doing here. ;)_

_Thank you, as always, to my amazing beta, Lightlacedwithbeauty. I love you. You rock my socks. *muah*_

_Also, to Smiley, your Italian is swoonworthy. *besos*_

_Until next time,_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	19. Weighted Words

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**18. Weighted Words**

_We're going to do something a little different with the A/N this time. Normally it comes after the chapter, but I want whatever feeling you're having at the end of this to be what you leave with—not my "notes." The only thing that will be after the chapter will be the Italian translations (the Spanish is in the text—you'll see why. ;) )._

_There are a few things I want to address because of a variety of comments/questions/suggestions I've received as of late._

_1. Luke. Yes, Clary is still going to see Luke. I know it seems like it's been forever since we heard anything about this, but if you go back and look, it's only been 3 days (actually 2—this chapter takes place on day 3) since Clary talked to Luke. A lot has happened in those 2 days. She is going this weekend; we're just not there yet._

_2. Lemons. Sigh. I know I've already addressed this on my profile and at the beginning of this story, but I keep getting comments about it. I hope this will finally put this issue to rest. I do __**not**__ write full on, descriptive lemons. I just don't and I never will. If you want to read my big old post on why, go visit my blog at ddpjclaf (dot) blogspot (dot) com. Go down a few posts and it's there. It explains my thoughts and feelings on the whole thing. If you are looking for those types of lemons you will not find them here. Sorry, but it's just not me. I don't want to write them and it doesn't matter how much you beg, I'm not going to. Also, I'd like to say that, in some instances—especially when things feel too personal and intimate—I will not let you see. Sometimes, we just don't need to see. Keep that in mind. ;)_

_3. Um, apparently there is a Mortal Instruments Award forum in the forums here at FFN. I received several notifications this week that my other story, Turbulence, was nominated in 2 categories, my one-shot, A Real Man, was nominated in another, and then me as an author in another. I didn't know they were doing this type of thing and it's pretty cool. I feel very flattered. Maybe you all have some fic and authors of TMI fanfic you'd like to nominate too? If so, they are called The Mundie Awards and have a topic under The Mortal Instruments forum here on fanfic._

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_As always, thank you to my amazing beta, Lightlacedwithbeauty. You never disappoint and always have my stuff back to me on time even when you're sick. You rock and totally don't SUCK IT (well, maybe you do a little...) ;) *love*_

_Niniadepapa—you are my Spanish goddess along with my mafia princess. I *heart* you too!_

_Smiley—you know exactly what I think and feel about you. And you know I'll always be your bella ragazza. ;) Thank you for the schmexy Italian. *besos and PSH's and FK's*_

_Now, brace yourselves for a fluff attack of epic proportions. You have been warned. ;) Also, my beta said she cried . . . fair warning for that too, just in case._

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_Chapter songs: (I recommend listening to the last two songs in the last scene that's in JPOV)  
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_**Let Me Take You There – Plain White T's (Someone rec'd this to me a little while ago, but I forgot who…thank you, whomever you are!)_

_**Pocketful of Sunshine - Natasha Bedingfield_

_**River Flows in You – Yiruma_

_**The Weight of Us – Sanders Bohlke_

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The man stood just around the corner, watching as the cab pulled away from the curb. She had looked in his direction, but he felt confident she hadn't really _seen_ him. It was idiotic of him to stand out there in plain view, where all she had to do was focus for just a moment and she would have his face in her memory.

He shook his head and laughed at himself over the stupidity of it all. This was supposed to be a simple intimidation and theft situation. At least that's what he'd signed up for. Send a few texts, steal a necklace. These were the tasks assigned to him in the beginning. Somehow, everything had become more complicated, and he was afraid of what they'd ask him to do next. What if they wanted him to hurt her or one of her friends on purpose? He didn't know if he could do that. But if he didn't, what would they do to him? To his family and friends?

Shrugging off the thoughts, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. With shaking fingers, he compressed the speed dial. He took in a deep breath and forced himself to forget it all. If he let himself dwell on the "what ifs" he would never be able to get this done, and he just wanted it done.

The line on the other end clicked. "Yeah?" she answered.

"She's not wearing it." He strolled down the side street, making sure no one within earshot paid him any attention.

"Damn it. Are you sure?"

"Positive." He fumbled for a cigarette. "I've been watching her all day. She doesn't have it."

"When you were in the apartment—"

"I already told you," he inhaled deeply and then blew out a stream of smoke, "I turned that place over. The locket I gave you was the only one she had. Hell, I even went through her old keepsake boxes. There was nothing."

The woman let out a slow breath. "Well, then we're just going to have to try another angle."

"What angle?" he asked, exasperated. "If she doesn't have it, she doesn't have it. We can't magically make it appear. I mean, what does the Boss expect us to do?"

"He expects us to present him with the locket."

"Can't you just—"

"I've tried, okay? I've tried explaining that we didn't find it. He insists we keep looking. Insists it's got to be there. I don't know what else . . ."

Her frantic rambling died down and the only sound coming from the end of the phone was her shaking breath.

The man looked up at the darkening sky and closed his eyes. They were stuck, both of them. Stuck and dead. "So, what now?" he asked.

"I don't know. Just . . . just give me some time to think of something."

He sighed. "Yeah, all right. But hurry, I don't think his patience is going to hold out much longer."

"Yeah," she said, her voice quiet and defeated. "I know."

.o.O.o.

Thick clouds rolled above, blanketing the city in gray. Jace watched from the window of Clary's bedroom as wind swept over the streets, carrying fallen leaves from one side to the other. The weather had been mild earlier, but now gave off the threat of frigid temperatures.

"You do realize there's no electricity at the manor house," Jace said as he turned and watched Clary pack her bag. Her shoulders were set stiff and straight, and Jace could tell being back in her apartment made her uncomfortable. He and Isabelle both had offered to gather her things for her, but she insisted on coming herself. Something about needing to face it sooner or later was her excuse. Jace understood, but he hated watching her struggle to remain calm, to push aside the fear she had admitted to feeling. It was a natural reaction. But for Clary, fear—weakness—was not tolerable. Jace knew how that was—God, did he know.

She shrugged, shoving an armful of clothes, several water bottles, and snacks inside before zipping the backpack shut. "That's okay. We can use candles."

"That also means no heat."

Clary glanced up. "What do I need heat for? I have you. You'll keep me warm, right?"

Jace smiled and shook his head, looking down at the ground. "Come on, Spitfire. We can go anywhere you want. Anywhere. It doesn't have to be there." He glanced back out the window. The wind had picked up once again, gusting and whistling against the pane.

She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up into his face. "I want to go there. There are pieces of you there that I don't know yet. I want to know them."

"I know I'm an utterly fascinating human being, but really, you can get to know me anywhere. I'm game for anything—as you know." He smirked.

Clary puckered her lips. "Get your mind out of the gutter for ten seconds, Cass."

"Only ten?"

She rolled her eyes and pushed away from him, grabbing her coat and slipping her arms through the sleeves. "We're going there."

Jace put on his own jacket and leaned over to her. "You know, you're a bossy little thing."

"Yes, and if you're going to be with me, you're going to have to get used to it." Clary clutched the front of his jacket and pulled him to her, leaving a small, innocent kiss on his lips before letting him go. "Now, leave me alone so I can finish packing."

"Leave you alone?" He lifted a brow and tucked his arm around her waist, pulling her into him. "Is that what you really want? I seem to recall a promise to my hands that you have yet to fulfill, Spitfire. You wouldn't want to disappoint them again, would you?"

"I also said when we were alone."

Jace raised his other hand to her face, tracing the line of her jaw with his finger. "We are alone." Leaning in, he brushed his lips over the shell of her ear. "All alone."

She shuddered. "For now. Isabelle will be down any second."

He clutched her waist and walked her backward until her legs hit the bed. "She's not here now though, is she?" Clary toppled over onto the mattress, dragging Jace down with her. Laughing, he rose up on his elbows, half hovering over her. "See, you just can't wait to get my hands into bed."

Clary made a disgusted sound and pushed hard against his chest. Jace let her direct him onto his back where she climbed on top of him, straddling his abdomen and leaning in, her face inches from his. "If you're going to insist on being a naughty boy, I'm going to have to punish you."

Jace reached up and pushed her hair out of her face, holding her cheeks between his palms. "Promise?"

"Ugh." Clary slapped his chest and went to move off, but he grabbed her hips and held her to him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To finish getting ready, of course."

Jace narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to torture me?"

"Possibly." She bent down and tugged on his bottom lip with her teeth, moving away before he had the chance to trap her there again. Climbing off the bed, she threw him a mischievous smirk.

"You know, Clary, I have my own ways of making you crazy."

"I'm sure you do, Cass." She shoved a few more small things into the front pocket of her bag.

"Perhaps I should forego English until you act a little nicer?"

Clary turned to him abruptly, her eyes wide. "You wouldn't . . ."

He looked at her and grinned in that way he knew she couldn't resist. "_Sabes que lo __haría__, nena._" {You know I would, baby}.

"Nuh uh." She shook her head. "Not gonna work this time, Cass. I can resist your sexy Spanish." The words spilled from her lips, but Jace heard the small tremor in her voice.

Rising to rest on his elbow, he lifted a brow and said, "_¿De verdad puedes? ¿Puedes resistir esto también?_" {"You can, can you? Can you resist this too?"} Jace sat up and grabbed his bag, opening it and pulling out a black baseball cap from inside. Clary gasped and he smiled, knowing he had her now. Looking up, he slowly twisted the cap around and placed it backwards on his head. He couldn't help but smirk at the nearly inaudible whimper that escaped from her throat. She moved forward and reached out for him, but he stood, grabbed her hands at the wrist, and waggled his finger in her face. _"Ah, ah, ah, sin tocar, niña mala. Eres una niña muy mala. Ahora vas a tener que esperar, ¿no?" _{"Ah, ah, ah, no touching, naughty girl. Very naughty girl. You're just going to have to wait now, aren't you?"}

"That's not fair, Jace. You can't just whip out the backwards cap like that. It's . . . it's . . ."

"_¿Es qué, nena?" _{"It's what, baby?"} He traced a line down the side of her face, curling a loose piece of hair around his finger.

Clary closed her eyes and shivered. "Everybody knows the backwards cap is a huge turn on, and that with the Spanish is just . . . mean. You can stop that now, by the way."

"Nuh uh. _No __Inglés_." Jace shook his head. _"Lo siento, pero_ _sabes que no deberías tentarme, mi fiera pelirroja." _{"I'm sorry, but you know better than to tease me, my feisty/fierce redhead."}

"So mean . . ." She sighed, her body gravitating into his.

"_Tienes suerte de que no haya sacado la camiseta de tirantes" _{"You're just lucky I didn't pull out the wife beater."}

She gasped again, opening her eyes.

"_Oh, sí. Sé sobre eso también." _{"Oh, yes. I know about that too."}

"You're evil."

He chuckled and leaned into her, his mouth suspended just above hers. Close enough that he could almost feel her beneath him, but far enough away to keep her in anticipation. Heat and electricity sparked between them and he had to fight against his own instincts to stay in control. Clary let out a shaky breath and parted her lips slightly in expectation of his kiss. Jace could feel her muscles tightening under his hold, her tension mounting the longer he teased.

It _was_ mean. He _was_ evil. But God, how he loved to make her squirm. Even now, after everything that had happened between them, after all the things they'd said and done, he still loved watching her melt. The way she turned to putty in his hands, the way her body betrayed her every desire, the way her lips begged for his, the flirting, the teasing, the fun—all of it made him feel powerful, made him feel wanted. And as a bonus, it made her forget—if for just a moment—everything that was happening around them. For that, it was worth it. He could be the metaphorical bad guy for that.

Swallowing against the longing to meet her there, to give in and take her lips, giving her exactly what she wanted, he whispered, _"Aún no has visto nada, Spitfire." _{"You haven't seen anything yet, Spitfire."}.

.o.O.o.

The looming stone façade of the manor house finally appeared from behind a row of large trees. Jace had entered at the front drive this time, instead of the back. The driveway twisted and curved for so long and through such a thick patch of woods, Clary wondered if they'd ever get there. But finally, she'd spotted a break in the trees ahead. Sitting forward in her seat, she craned her neck to see it sooner. The house was massive, elaborate, and foreign, but she couldn't help the excitement coursing through her veins at the sight of it.

The last time she'd been there—regardless of the events that forced her to leave sooner than she'd wanted—had been eye opening for her. The Jace she'd experienced there had been one she'd never seen before and was desperate to see again. Maybe it was the fact that he'd spent so much of his childhood in this house, and there were pieces of him that she didn't know yet hidden within its walls. Or maybe it was the innocence and vulnerability she'd felt radiating off from him. Whatever it was, she hadn't experienced it since. Sure, he'd opened himself up, he'd shown her sides to him she never imagined existed, but it wasn't the same. Here, he was someone different. Someone she wanted to know too.

Jace chuckled from the driver's seat of the car he'd borrowed from a friend. He'd argued it wouldn't be sensible to take the bike in this weather. The thick layer of moisture that coated the windshield told Clary his argument made sense. Though, she had to admit, she missed the motorcycle. Riding behind Jace, her arms wrapped around his waist and her hands fisted in his jacket, gave her such a sense of freedom. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced. For so long she'd been overly cautious about her safety—probably leftover anxiety from her mother's death—it felt good to finally let all of that go and just live.

Clary turned to him, peering at his face in the near dark. "What? Why are you laughing?"

He shrugged. "You just seem so happy to be here. I don't understand why you like it so much. It's old, dusty, and has no electricity."

Clary looked back at the building as it grew closer and larger through the windshield. "I don't know. It's like I told you before. This is part of you, a big part, a part I don't know," she glanced at him, "a part I want to know."

Jace kept his eyes on hers for a few moments before letting out an unsteady breath and turning back to the front.

"Besides," Clary continued, "it's so secluded and . . . private. Even without electricity or heat or dusting," she glanced at him sideways and grinned, "it's kinda romantic. It's exactly what I wanted. An escape from . . . everything."

He pulled the car to a stop in front of the large stone steps. Columns lined either side, holding up a matching roof which covered the entrance and protected the car from the freezing drizzle still falling from the sky. Jace turned off the engine and moved to face her. The leather of the seat squeaked underneath him. Reaching out, he tucked his fingers under her chin and pulled her gaze to his. She let him manipulate her and met his eyes.

"I just want you to feel safe," he said. "That's all. If this is where you feel that way, then I am more than happy to bring you here."

Clary reached up and grabbed his hand, entwining her fingers with his and leaned over the console. "It's not the place that makes me feel that way. I'm never scared when I'm with you, no matter where I am. But I just wanted to not think about all that other stuff, and this place is . . . well, not to sound stupid or anything, but it's like being surrounded by you. By your life, your past, and I just want to let myself get wrapped up in that—in you, with no distractions and no interruptions."

Jace placed his hand against her face, his fingers feathering across her cheek. "It doesn't sound stupid," he said. "But it was a little cheesy."

She smiled. "Are you allergic to cheese, Cass?"

He returned her grin and shook his head, his fingers tightening and pulling her forward, his lips brushing hers lightly before moving away. Clary pouted, wanting more. "We should get inside," he said. "I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

He nodded.

Clary narrowed her eyes and glanced over at the house before returning her gaze to his once more. "How could you have done anything? We just got here."

Jace looked at her from under his lashes and one corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Clary felt her heart drop into her stomach. That look killed her every time.

"I have my ways, Spitfire."

"I'm well aware of that." She swallowed, trying to keep herself from launching over the console and onto his lap. He knew better than to unleash that smile on her.

He grinned wider, apparently sensing her less than innocent thoughts about him at the moment, and enjoying the affect he had on her. "Come on."

Opening his door, he climbed out and reached behind the seat to grab the bags before Clary could collect hers. Clary narrowed her eyes and thrust herself out her own side. At least she beat him to opening her door. She wasn't opposed to chivalry, but goading him was super fun. She was rewarded by the scowl on his face as confirmation that she had indeed spoiled his plan.

Clary followed behind as Jace made his way up the stone steps. She let her eyes fall on all the ornate detailing carved into the rock lining the steps and the frame surrounding doorway. It wasn't something she would have expected, but then again, she'd never been any place like this before. Sure, her father had money, but he was nowhere near as wealthy as this. It seemed strange to think of Jace as rich. He didn't act it in the least. Most of the "rich" people Clary knew were self-absorbed and pretentious. While Jace put on an air of conceitedness, deep inside, she didn't really think he was that way at all.

Jace stopped at the door and slid a key into the lock. Clary ran her hand over the thick, wood doorframe, her fingers dancing over the raised designs, wondering what the symbols meant.

"My grandfather believed these acted as some sort of ward over the property," Jace answered her thoughts. "He thought if he carved them—or had them carved—around the doorways they would aid in protecting the house and the people inside."

Clary glanced up at him, her brows raised.

Jace smiled. "I never said he wasn't insane."

"Oh, I don't think that's insane." She continued to trace the carvings. "A lot of people believe in luck or charms or whatever. My mom was like that."

"Really?" he asked just as the lock clicked free and the door swung open. Jace gestured for her to enter before him.

She nodded and moved forward. "Really. She even—" Clary froze the moment she stepped over the threshold, her breath catching in her throat. She took in the area surrounding her, not able to believe what she was seeing.

The door opened into a spacious foyer with marble tile and a large staircase nestled in the back. Thick wood crown molding lined the ceiling, and a large crystal chandelier hung just above their heads, sparkling teardrop shaped crystals dangling at the lowest points. But as impressive as that was, it wasn't what had taken her by surprise. Scattered along every surface she could see and even lining the floor along the walls, were candles. Big ones, small ones, tapers, tealights, every sort imaginable.

Clary took another step forward, letting her eyes take in the scene around her. Even the steps on the staircase were lit by strategically placed glowing wicks. In the midst of her gawking, she heard the soft click of the door closing behind her and two distinct thumps of their bags hitting the floor. Warmth flooded through her as Jace stepped up behind and wrapped his arms around her waist, nestling his nose in her hair.

"So? What do you think?" he asked, his breath warming the skin of her neck. "There's no electricity, but at least we can see."

Clary continued to stare, her eyes wide, trying to take in everything at once. "I think . . ." Slowly she pivoted in his arms, raising hers to loop around his neck. "I think it's amazing. How . . .?"

Jace touched his lips to her nose briefly before pulling back. "Do you remember the narrow driveway that veered off from the main one as we were driving in?"

She nodded, thinking back to when she'd spotted the tiny passage.

"Well, that leads to the grounds keeper's house. Stella and Marvin have been here as long as I can remember. Now that my grandfather is gone they tend to the landscaping mostly, but I called earlier and asked if they wouldn't mind setting this up. I had them light the fireplaces too." He pressed another kiss to the top of her head. "You were adamant on coming here, and I didn't want to have to stumble around like idiots or freeze to death."

Clary looked up and met his eyes. The glow from the candles made them appear even more gold than normal. "Thank you. This is . . . this is just . . . perfect. Just perfect." She stood on tip-toes and brushed her lips over his cheek, whispering softly, "You'd better be careful, Cass. If you keep being all romantic like this I may have to revoke your Casanova card."

He turned toward her. "I think you effectively stole and ripped up that card a long time ago, don't you?"

"Actually," she threaded her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, "I think you were just pretending before and you have, in fact, been this amazing, cheesy guy all this time."

Smiling, Jace bent and touched his lips to hers. "I guess you'll never know, will you?"

Clary grinned and kissed him back, allowing herself to savor the feel of his mouth against hers, the taste of his tongue, the strength of his hands as they gripped her hips. His body pressed against hers, and she wanted more. So much more. But there was time for that later. Plenty of time. She smiled against his mouth at the thought. For now, she wanted to know him. This him. The one who'd stayed in this house, learned from the man who used to own it.

Pulling back slightly, she touched her forehead to his and said, "Show me."

"What do you want to see?" he asked, his fingers trailing over her cheeks.

"Everything." Clary looked up. "I want to see everything."

"You know, I could take that a variety of perverted ways, but in the interest of keeping this PG for the moment, I'm going to assume you mean the house." Letting go of her, Jace reached down and grasped her hand, pulling her forward through the foyer.

As they passed, Jace grabbed one of the lanterns lining the walls, which looked to Clary to be gaslights instead of candles. He lifted it in front of him and led her to a set of double doors on their left. Handing her the lantern and letting go of her hand, he pulled open the doors. A warm glow emanated from the fireplace inside and an array of candles situated along the mantel and various other small tables throughout.

A couple of plush looking chairs sat in front of the hearth and a large pile of blankets and pillows lay to the side.

"I figured we'd probably hang out in here most since it has the biggest fireplace. But we can go wherever you want."

Clary nodded and let her eyes linger over the large painted portraits hanging on the opposite wall. She moved toward them and lifted the lamp to view them better. In the first, there was an older man, balding with rosy cheeks and a kind smile, and a thin, severe looking woman with slicked back silver hair. The man sat in a chair—which looked suspiciously like the ones in front of the fireplace—and the woman stood behind him, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Who are they?" Clary asked.

Jace moved up behind her, placing his hands on her hips. "My grandparents."

She turned the top half of her body to look at him. "Really?"

He nodded.

Clary returned to studying the portrait. "Your grandmother looks . . ."

Jace chuckled and leaned down, speaking lowly in her ear, "Looks can be deceiving." His lips touched her jaw. "She was actually quite nice. I think she just hated having their portraits done."

"I would too if I had to stand there for that."

He laughed again. "They didn't. My grandfather commissioned them done from photographs. There was no way he'd get me to stand for someone to paint one."

Clary furrowed her brows and glanced at Jace once more. He pointed a little further down the wall and she let her eyes follow. Not able to see well, she moved a little closer, finally able to make out what he was talking about. In this portrait were a fair haired man and a darker haired woman. And standing slightly to the side, was Jace. A younger, smaller Jace, but Jace all the same. Clary smiled and lifted her lantern once more, taking in the cocky little smirk he owned even back then.

"How old were you there?"

"Around eight, I think."

Clary let her gaze fall on the woman next. In this painting, she sat in the chair, her body covered in a sharp, black suit and her hands clasped in her lap. Her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun and she wore no smile. There was nothing about her that reminded Clary of Jace—except the eyes. She had the same, beautiful golden hued eyes and thick, dark lashes. Behind and slightly to the side of her, stood a man. In him, Clary could see Jace. His father was built much the same: tall, lean, but not skinny. He had the same messy mop of curls atop his head, though the color was a few shades lighter. His mouth pulled up in one corner, just like Jace's, and the angular shape of his jaw was almost identical.

"You look like your father."

"Mmhmm," he hummed against her head.

She turned around and looked up at him. "You don't talk about him much."

Jace shrugged. "There's not much to say."

"Oh, is he . . . you know . . . like your mom?"

He shook his head. "No, he's just always gone. His job has him traveling all the time. Sometimes my mom went with him—more so once I was a teenager. That's when I spent most of my time here."

"But . . . why wouldn't he want to be here, with you?"

Jace met her eyes and there was something behind them, some emotion she couldn't quite place. "Some people just aren't meant to be parents. Or maybe I should say, _shouldn't_ be parents." He paused. "Both of mine were much more interested in themselves—their careers, their social lives—than me. I'm pretty sure I was the product of a drunken evening and that neither of them ever planned to have children at all."

Clary's chest squeezed at the thought. She knew Jace didn't want pity, but she felt bad for him. No kid should have to grow up like that, feeling like he was a mistake. Her childhood hadn't been ideal, but at least she'd had one parent who had been there for her. Her mother was amazing, always striving to put Clary and Jonathan first in her life. And she had Luke. In the areas where her father failed, Luke picked up the slack.

Luke. Her thoughts shifted to him for a moment. She couldn't wait to see him that weekend. Her reason for going was more than just the need to learn about the locket and what the code could mean, it was also about reconnecting. The more she thought about why it had been so long since she'd seen him, the more Clary was convinced she'd stayed away because of the pain it caused her to remember those times with her mother. After she'd died, Clary couldn't bring herself to talk about her, to think about the things they'd shared together. It was just easier to break away from everything and forget. Unfortunately, that included Luke—and Jonathan. If she hadn't, maybe Jonathan wouldn't be trapped under her father's will now.

Clary felt a tugging on her arm which brought her out of her musings.

"You want to see the rest?" Jace asked.

She nodded and grinned, following him back out into the foyer. He led her through a few more rooms on the ground floor: the library where they'd come in the first time where the spiral staircase to the observatory was located. A fire burned in that fireplace too. Across the entryway was another room, and in this one sat only a piano, a black baby grand, and a large chair with a side table and lamp. The music room, Jace had explained.

After that, he led her to the stairs and they climbed to the top. Clary slid her hand along the slick beam all the way. It was so cold and smooth, yet it felt strong and inviting under her fingers. She didn't know what it was about this place, but it just felt like—home.

At the top of the stairs, Jace led her down the dark hall and stopped in front of the last door on the right. He looked down at her and bit his lip, his brow creasing slightly and if Clary wasn't mistaken, she thought she saw his cheeks color.

"This was my room."

She raised her brows. "Really? Naughty teenage Cass's room, huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "I think you have a warped perception of who I was as a kid."

"So you weren't naughty?"

"Oh, no. I was." Jace twisted the knob and pushed open the door. "Just not in the way I am now."

Clary laughed and walked inside. It wasn't what she'd expected—though, she didn't really know what she'd expected in the first place. The room was very clean, with very little personality. There was a large bed with soft looking white blankets on top, but there were no posters, no trophies, no . . . anything. Just the bed, a dresser, and a nightstand with a photograph on top. There was a fireplace though—which Clary found odd in a kid's room, but to each their own, she guessed—which had been lit.

"You're not much for decorating, are you?" she asked. "Your room at the apartment doesn't have much in it either."

"I guess not. Less to clean if there isn't much to begin with." Jace flashed a grin.

"So you're lazy, yeah?" Clary crossed to the closet and pulled open the doors. There wasn't much there, but one item in particular drew her attention. Reaching back to take the lantern from Jace, she stepped inside and let her fingers run over the material. She looked back at him and grinned. "Football?"

"Among other things, yes."

She shook her head and tuned back, yanking the jersey off the hanger and touching the letters stretching across the back. _Herondale._ "I never would have thought . . ."

"Why? Don't I look like a jock to you?"

"No. Not even a little bit."

Jace laughed and Clary handed him the lantern, pulling the uniform over her head and pushing her arms through. Once she had it on, she held her arms out and spun slowly for him.

"Well? What do you think?"

His eyes were dark as he took her in. "I think . . . yes."

"Yes?" She raised her brows.

Jace nodded and set the lantern on the dresser, stepping up to her and holding her face in his hands. "Just yes," he whispered as he lowered his lips to hers, kissing her slowly as his hands pulled her harder against him.

Clary lifted her arms to wrap around his neck when her stomach growled loudly.

He chuckled and lowered one hand, pressing his palm lightly to her abdomen. "Apparently, I'm a horrible host and am starving my guest to death."

"Stupid stomach," she grumbled against his mouth. "Just when it was getting good."

"Don't worry, baby." Jace nipped at her jaw with his teeth. "I'll make it even better later." He placed one last kiss to the space just below her ear before he pulled back. "But let's get you fed so you have enough energy to keep up."

"Should I be scared?" she asked as he led her back through the room and out into the hall.

"Very."

They made their way down the stairs and through another doorway near the bottom. Stepping inside, Clary found herself in a spacious, modern looking kitchen. The floors were a polished marble that matched the countertops, and the stainless appliances had been buffed to a shine. Someone had definitely cleaned since they'd last been there. Clary didn't see a speck of dust anywhere in the room.

Jace pulled her to the island in the center which was piled high with different non-perishable items: granola bars, soda, crackers, some fruit, and two brown paper sacks. Jace peered inside and shook his head, laughing to himself.

"What?" Clary asked.

He tipped the bag over and dumped its contents onto the counter. Out came a sandwich— peanut butter and jelly—a small bag of chips, a vanilla snackpack, and a juice box. Jace looked up at her, his face lit with a grin. "Apparently, Stella still thinks I'm eight."

Clary grabbed hers and proceeded to empty it in front of her. She had identical items; except her snackpack was chocolate and she had one extra thing. Picking it up, she waved it in front of Jace. "Oooh, I got fruit snacks!"

His mouth dropped open. "Hey! No fair!"

She giggled, gathered her stuff back into the sack, and started toward the living area. "Maybe if you're nice I'll share."

"Well, then I'm doomed to failure because there's no way I can be nice when fruit snacks are at stake. This is war."

Clary laughed again and walked over to the fireplace. Jace set his bag down and grabbed a few of the blankets, spreading them out in front. He tossed Clary a few pillows and both of them settled in with their elementary school lunches. Clary lay on her stomach with one of the pillows under her chest and the other over her feet—an attempt to keep them warm since she hated wearing socks and shoes. Jace sprawled out on his side, both his pillows behind his back, and propped himself up on one elbow.

"Wait!" Clary said just as Jace raised the sandwich to his mouth.

"What?"

She held up a finger and jumped up from her spot. Rushing out into the foyer, she grabbed both of their bags where Jace had dropped them, and dragged them back into the living area.

When she reached the place in front of the fire, she plopped back down with her legs crossed underneath her and rummaged through the front pocket of her backpack. Finding what she needed, Clary pulled her iPod and a pair of travel speakers from her bag. She held them up in front of her and raised her brows.

"Mood music," she said

Jace grinned and finally took a bite of his sandwich. Clary finished setting up her iPod and pressed play. Music filtered through the speakers, giving the previously silent house a little more of a lived-in feel. Clary shifted back down to her previous position on her belly and dug into her food, moaning at the taste and saying things like, "OhmyGodsogood" through her full mouth.

"Jesus," Jace said with a smirk. "I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious over those sounds you're making. To think a sandwich gets the same reaction out of you that I do."

Clary choked, and Jace laughed. After she cleared the piece of bread trying to go down her windpipe, she held her hand up to her mouth, finished chewing, swallowed, and said, "You're a douche. I could have died. Besides, you know there's no comparison, so don't even act like you think otherwise."

"Perhaps you should save those noises just for me then. You know, to preserve my fragile ego and all."

She snorted and coughed again. Jace started to chuckle once more, but Clary narrowed her eyes at him in warning and he stopped.

Both of them quickly ate the rest of their food, Clary relenting and sharing her fruit snacks after Jace gave her puppy dog eyes that blew Simon's out of the water. She let out a sigh, pushed her wrappings toward the center of the blanket and lay her head on the pillow, closing her eyes.

"This is awesome."

"Spooky, old houses with no electricity are a plus on your good date 'o meter?" Jace asked.

"As long as you don't tell me any ghost stories while we're here, I'm good. I don't like scary stuff."

"So, I probably shouldn't tell you that my grandfather died in that chair behind you?"

"What?" Clary scrambled up and turned, backing all the way into Jace. His arms wrapped around her and he chuckled. "You're lying," she said.

"Yes." He paused. "It was actually the other chair."

She whipped around and tried to smack him, but he caught her arm and flipped her onto her back, his eyes glowing in the firelight as he hovered over her. "Lighten up, Spitfire. I'm only joking," Jace said. "Besides, I already told you I wouldn't let anything hurt you—and that includes the ghost of my nearly crippled grandfather who would have to hobble after you with his cane. Don't pay any attention if you hear any soft thumping in the night."

"I hate you," she breathed.

"No you don't."

"I might."

Jace shook his head, the motion causing his nose to brush hers. "But you don't." His hand trailed down her side and cupped her hip, while the other held her wrist firmly to the ground above her head.

Clary inhaled and felt her breath tremble. God, how did he have the ability to do that still? Her gaze poured over his face, studying how he looked in that moment. How his eyes were playful and happy. How there were no creases of anxiety or worry on his forehead. This was why she'd wanted to come here, for this reason. All his inhibitions, all his hesitations, were gone. Here, he could just be. And she wanted him to just be. She wanted to see him, to feel him like this.

Her eyes fell to his lips and she wanted to feel them too. She knew them by heart, the way the molded perfectly to hers and how they moved. How flawlessly they fit together in every way. Reaching up with her free hand, Clary grabbed a fistful of his shirt and drew him down to her. His mouth was almost on hers when she felt a chill creep up her spine and she shivered. Jace pulled back and looked over his shoulder.

"The fire's dying down. I should get more wood."

Clary let out the breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, and nodded. She didn't want to break the moment, but it was getting cold in there.

Jace placed a finger to her lips and leaned in to whisper in her ear, "Hold that thought." Giving her a little peck on the temple, he rose to his feet and started toward the doorway.

Once he was gone, Clary sat up and rummaged through her bag for her hoodie. She found it and slipped it over her head, rubbing her arms to warm the fabric and herself. Figuring she could clean up while she waited, she gathered all of their garbage and consolidated it to one bag then tossed it over by the rest of their stuff.

She sang quietly to the music coming from her iPod as she worked, leaning over to turn up the volume when a song she really liked came on. Closing her eyes, Clary swayed to the beat, popping her hips and holding her hands above her head. When the chorus came, she sang at full volume, not able to contain herself any longer. She was happy. So happy, and freer than she'd felt in a long time. Finally, things were starting to make sense, starting to look up.

After a moment, Clary heard a throat clear from the direction of the door and she opened her eyes. Jace stood beneath the arch, his hands crossed over his chest and his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his mouth pulling into a grin.

Clary stopped singing but continued to dance. She lifted her hands above her head and swiveled her hips, turning herself in a full circle. Once she faced Jace again, she lowered her hands and ran them over her hips and back up. He smiled wider.

Stretching her arms out, she tweaked her fingers at him, beckoning him forward. "You gonna just stand there watching, or are you gonna join me?"

"I don't know," he said, his eyes traveling the length of her body. "Watching has its own advantages."

Clary rocked her hips once more. "Yeah, but if you come over here you can touch too." She ran her fingers across her stomach, her shirt lifting slightly and giving him a peek of skin. "Come on, Cass, you know you want to touch."

"My hands_ have_ been waiting patiently all day," he mused.

She nodded and gestured him forward once more. "Come here."

Finally, he pushed away from the wall and made his way slowly toward her. When he stood just a couple of feet away, Clary reached out for him, and he took her hand in his, twirling her to him, her back pressing flush against his chest. Jace's other hand slid up her side, his fingers light and gentle, and his nose brushed her neck, causing her to shiver. Just as she started to lean into him, he spun her away and around, pulling her back to him quickly. This time, she faced him.

His arm snaked around her back and the other held her hand. Clary's breath caught as he started to move, leading her expertly. She ran her hand up his arm, resting it on his shoulder. Her hips fit snugly between his and her feet mirrored every move he made. He slipped his hand up under the bottom of her shirt, fanning his fingers across the small of her bare back. Heat from his touch shot through her and she had to close her eyes briefly, struggling to catch her breath.

When she had, she lifted her gaze to his. "Where did you learn to dance like this?"

"I'm a little rich kid, baby." he said, his forehead flush with hers as his body continued to lead her. "There are certain things we all learn in order to keep up appearances."

"You're really good. Is there anything you try to do that you're not good at?"

Jace chuckled and twisted her outward once more, this time catching her and dipping her immediately. He supported her with one hand to her back, the other clutching her just behind her knee. "Not that I've found." Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "I'm pretty much a natural at everything."

Clary let her head fall back further and laughed. "Humility," she said, lifting her arms to loop his neck as he raised her back up. "There's something you're not good at."

"Hmm . . . you may have found my weakness, Spitfire." Jace wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly to him as he continued to move.

Clary looked up, threading her fingers into his hair and holding herself flush against him. "I don't think that's your weakness, Jace."

"Oh yeah, then what is?"

She moved her stare from one of his eyes to the other, taking in everything they were trying to tell her. "I'm not sure yet."

Jace bent and pressed his lips to hers, pulling back just slightly and leaving his forehead against hers. "Well, you'll let me know when you figure it out, yeah?"

Clary nodded, closing her eyes and enjoying the feel of him in her arms. His hold on her grew stronger and his breath fanned over her face.

Words swirled through her mind, repeating themselves over and over again, begging her to speak them aloud. But she couldn't. No matter how strongly she felt them. No matter how much she wanted him to know, she couldn't tell him. She'd promised him on the first night they were together that she wouldn't, and she hadn't held her end of that bargain. Because in spite of what she'd promised him and herself in her own mind, she'd fallen hard and fast for this boy. So hard and so fast, she was afraid to even think of how it would feel when she crashed. And crash she would. She knew it already. Knew it was inevitable, and was pretty sure that when she did, there'd be nothing left of her to put back together again.

.o.O.o.

Jace stared into the fire, watching as orange and yellow flames licked at the logs, devouring them bit by bit as the evening wore on. Clary lay curled into his side, her head resting on his chest as she slept, his shirt fisted in her hand. They'd spent the last several hours just talking about everything and nothing at all. It felt weird—good—but strange to do nothing but talk. It definitely wasn't something he'd ever done with a girl before. He supposed it had more to do with the fact that he'd never felt like getting to know one the way he did her.

He'd learned so many things about her, little things and big things such as: even though she drank coffee every day, she didn't really like it. And in order to even get it down, she had to have at least half of it be flavored creamer. He'd learned that her mother had tried to put her in ballet at age seven, but when she refused to wear the leotard and came out of the changing room in her underwear, her mother finally relented and bought her an easel instead. She'd also spilled that she'd met Simon on the first day of school when he'd picked her up off the ground at recess after a larger kid pushed her off the swings, and practically carried her to the nurse's office for a bandage. Simon's worth raised a few notches in Jace's book after learning that. All of these little stories may have seemed insignificant to someone else, but to Jace, they gave him insight into the girl Clary used to be, and to the reasons she was the way she was now. Why the things that she was so passionate about were important to her.

Letting out a breath, Jace looked down and traced a line through the hair on the side of Clary's head—gently so he didn't wake her. The silky, strands infused with varying shades of red and orange slid through and curled around his fingers. Lashes the same color as her hair touched the curve of her cheek and accentuated the lighter freckles splayed over her nose. It was a big responsibility, knowing Jace was all that stood between this girl and whomever it was trying to do her harm. He wished he had more to go on, more than a string of random letters and a lock pick with the Agency's logo on it. None of it made sense, and Jace felt as if he were failing already. He needed help, but other than Maryse, Alec, and Isabelle, he didn't know who he could trust. It couldn't even be proven that someone at the Agency was involved—it could be a setup for all Jace knew. He had no more answers than he'd started out with and that knowledge frustrated him. How could he do this job, how could he keep her safe if he didn't know which direction to start looking?

Jace closed his eyes and laid his head back into the pillows, trying to push those thoughts from his mind. At this point in time, worry did him no good. When they got back, he could start again, but for now he just wanted to enjoy being here with her, without interruption or fear.

Flames spit and crackled, filling the room with warmth and the smoky smell of home. It had been a long time since he'd felt like any place was home. Not since he'd last lived here. For the past two years, Jace had been at the Academy, training nonstop and not thinking a thing about it. Now, at the apartment, it was a little homier and less college dorm, but it didn't feel anything like this place.

Jace missed being there. How it was always inviting, no matter its size. A lot of people thought a home this big could never feel comfortable, but it did. It always had. He had never felt more at home than he did here.

The flames in the fireplace died down to just barely a glow. With a sigh, Jace carefully removed himself from under Clary, taking care to lay her on the pillows he'd had behind him. Her brows furrowed and a small pout formed on her lips when he moved away. It made his breath catch to see her reaction. Even in sleep, she still wanted him, still knew when he was gone.

Moving toward the fireplace, Jace knelt and balanced on the balls of his feet, placing another log inside and stoking the fire until it engulfed the new piece. Placing the poker back in its place, he turned and glanced at Clary. She was still fast asleep, her hand clutching the pillow in the same way she'd held onto him earlier. Jace looked down at his watch, noticing it was past midnight already. Funny how it didn't seem that late.

Jace's stomach started to rumble, and he realized it had been several hours since they'd eaten. Not wanting to wake Clary, he stood quietly and grabbed one of the gas lamps sitting nearby. As he made his way out of the room, he blew out all of the candles, save for another lamp for Clary if she awoke.

The darkness of the house spilled over him, cloaking everything in shadow. But even though he could no longer see past the circle of light his lamp cast in front of him, his comfort level never dropped.

There was a little more light in the kitchen due to the large windows over the sink and to either side of the cabinetry. Moonlight cascaded in, bathing everything with its yellow hue. Jace grabbed an apple from the pile of fruit on the island, taking a bite instantly, the sweet juice dripping down his chin.

He wiped his sleeve over his face and moved back out into the hall, pausing just before the open door on his left. No light, not even from the moon, came from inside, only complete darkness. Holding his breath, Jace stepped over the threshold and made his way in. The beam of his lantern swept over the hardwood floor until finally illuminating the edge of the slick black bench of the piano.

Walking forward a few feet more, Jace could see the gleaming white keys standing out brightly against the sea of black surrounding him. He lowered his hand, his fingers brushing lightly over the cold ivory. A thrill of recognition shot through him. It had been a really long time since he'd played.

Moving around the bench, Jace set his lantern and half eaten apple on the piano's top, and sat down. His feet hit the pedals on the floor as he reached up and lightly pushed down a chord. Sweet notes drifted out, the sound almost perfectly in tune. Stella and Marvin must have been keeping the piano in shape. Jace hadn't given it a second thought, but was now glad they had.

He screwed around for a few minutes, trying to get used to how it felt to play again. His fingers were stiff and hesitant in the beginning, but it didn't take long for them to feel as if he'd never quit in the first place. The keys were familiar and comforting, just like everything else about this place. If he tried, Jace could picture his grandfather sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the room, his eyes closed and his pipe protruding from his mouth.

"Play another, Jace," he would say, always willing to hear more. Always wanting to hear more.

Jace thought back to the summer when he was thirteen and both of his parents had been off on some mission in Europe. Before they'd left, he'd overheard his mother mention a song she really liked to his father, so Jace spent the entire summer learning and practicing it. Over and over he practiced that song, hoping that when his mother returned, he could play it for her. His grandfather told him it was the best he'd ever heard Jace play. He said he showed the emotion intended perfectly through the piece, and that was the hard part. Jace felt so proud of the accomplishment and was beyond excited to give his mother his "gift." But when his parents returned, she'd been "too busy" to sit down for five minutes and listen before they dragged Jace back home—where there was no piano for him to play. Even now, seven years later, Jace could still feel the disappointment coursing through him, the frustration that was always there in regards to his mother.

As he sat there in the dark, the instrument in front of him, Jace wondered if he could remember the song now. Reaching out, he placed his fingers on the keys, sliding them gently and feeling the worn surfaces under his skin. Notes danced through his mind and without another thought, he closed his eyes and pressed down.

Hesitantly and quietly at first, the tune resonated through the room. In seconds, the familiar rush of making music came back to him and filled him with the confidence he'd had back then when it was his grandfather listening. His hands moved over the keys slowly, then quickly, soft and hard, every stroke recognizable and perfect. The same feelings of happiness and pride he'd had back then crashed over him, his chest tightening and his heart beating quickly. It hadn't only been about making his mother happy when he played; it had also been for him. It was something he was good at all on his own. Neither of his parents played, it was only him, and for those moments he stole sitting on this bench, he was just Jace.

Halfway through the song, Jace felt he was no longer alone. Even so, he didn't stop and he didn't open his eyes. He didn't even flinch when Clary slid onto the bench beside him. His fingers continued making the music still locked up inside of him, still yearning to give something to the woman who had no time for him then, and certainly didn't now.

As the song came to a close, Jace moved slower, dragging out the last notes until he reached the end, the hum vibrating and hanging in the air. His hands slipped from the keys and fell into his lap, his head hanging and his eyes still closed. After a moment, he drew in a breath and opened his eyes.

"Did I wake you?" he asked.

"Yes," Clary answered quietly.

He shook his head and chuckled, even though the last thing he felt like doing was laughing. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You can wake me up like that anytime." She paused. "I didn't know you played."

"I don't. Not anymore."

"Why not? That was amazing. What was that song?"

"Nothing. Just a song my mother liked. I learned it when I was thirteen as a surprise for her."

Clary laid her hand on his arm. Jace could feel the heat of her through his shirt. "You learned a song for your mother? I thought you didn't like her."

"I don't." He closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them, turning to face her. "But that doesn't mean I didn't want her to like me."

She scooted closer. "Did she like it?"

"She never heard it. Too busy."

Clary sucked in a breath. "God, I hate your mother."

Jace snorted in agreement.

"I'm serious," she said as she reached out to him, her hands sliding across his cheeks and holding his face between her palms. "I don't understand how she can look at you and not see how beautiful you are. Here," Clary trailed her fingers over his face, "and here." She pressed her palm over his heart. "Because I see it every second I'm with you. Even when you're being an ass, I see it. God, I just . . . I . . ." Clary swallowed, closed her eyes and dropped her head, shaking it slowly. "I just really hate her."

Jace heard her voice crack and lowered his face to see hers. She had her eyes squeezed tightly together and a small bit of moisture clung to her lashes.

"Hey," he said, touching two fingers to her chin and lifting her face to his.

She opened her eyes and sniffed. Thankfully there were no real tears.

"It sucks, yeah, but I'm a big boy now. I don't need my mother's approval anymore."

"I know you don't need it." Her eyes moved from one of his to the other. "But you deserve it. You deserve her love and you deserve her praise. She's blind if she can't see how amazing you are."

Jace smiled sadly and shook his head, not feeling the least bit self-important at the moment. "I'm not amazing, Clary."

She slid even closer and held his face in her hands again. Leaning into him, she touched her forehead to his cheek and he could feel her damp lashes against his skin. "You are to me."

He drew in a shaky breath and reached up, laying his hand on the side of her neck, his thumb brushing her jaw. There were so many things he felt, so many words he wanted to say, but none of them felt right. None of them felt . . . enough. Not for the way he felt. Not for the way his chest hurt in a good way every time she came near. The way she looked at him, the way she thought of him, none of it was true, and he didn't deserve any of it. But somehow to her, it was and he did. He wanted to deserve it, so badly he wanted that.

Jace closed his eyes. "I want to deserve you."

Her grip on him tightened and her lips brushed his jaw. "You do."

Jace lowered his face to her neck, burying his nose into her skin and breathing her in. Clary threaded her fingers into his hair, her nails lightly scraping his scalp. The way she held him as if he were precious, the feel of her skin against his and the soft scent of her, made his mind lose control of his mouth, and from his lips spilled the whispered words he'd been thinking, but had been holding back. Not because he didn't want to say them, but because he shouldn't, he knew he shouldn't. But in that moment, he couldn't stop them from slipping through anyway, _"Lo penso che ti amo."_

As soon as the words fell from him, he froze and opened his eyes, feeling Clary stiffen in his grasp as well.

"What?" she whispered.

Jace couldn't answer, the weight of the words he'd just spoken pressing down on him from every side, squeezing him under the gravity of what they meant.

"Jace?" Clary said, her voice trembling as she pulled back and looked him in the eyes. Hers were large, bright, and filled with some emotion he didn't recognize. "I don't know Italian, but I know Spanish, and that sounded a lot like you said—"

"I know what it sounded like," Jace said, not knowing where his courage was coming from, "and it means the same thing." He was pretty sure he wasn't ready to say those words. Every single one was the truth, but still, actually saying them was beyond anything he should do at that point.

She sucked in a breath and her brows arched as she reached forward and drew his face to hers. "Did you mean it? God, please tell me you meant it."

Jace raised his hands and held her just as she was holding him, their mouths nearly touching and their breaths intermingling between them. He could taste her on his tongue, feel the way her hands trembled against his cheeks. It was time for him to be completely truthful, to himself and to her. It didn't matter whether he was ready or not, he'd already said the words, already admitted that he felt them. She had a right to know, and . . . he wanted her to know. As wrong as it was, he did. "Yes," he whispered. "I meant every God-damned word."

Clary closed her eyes. "Say it again," she said quietly. "In English, please, say it in English."

"I'll say it in any language you'd like, but if it's English you want . . ." Jace brushed his fingers over the sides of her face, tracing the lines of her cheeks and jaw before breathing out the words she wanted to hear, "I love you." He swiped his lips back and forth over hers. "I'm in love with you."

A small cry fell from her as she clutched him tighter and pressed her mouth to his, hard and hungry. Her fingers twisted into his hair pulling him impossibly closer. Jace kissed her back just as desperately, his hands falling to her back and digging into her flesh, wanting to feel more, needing to feel more.

Without removing her mouth from his, Clary shifted on the piano bench and rose to her knees. Jace's palms slid to her waist and she swung one leg over him, straddling his lap and pressing herself flush against his chest. Red tendrils fell around his face as he lifted his chin to kiss her, her scent surrounding him. His arms wrapped around her back, holding her as tight as he possibly could.

After several moments, Clary broke free, leaving her face against his, her panting breaths puffing against his mouth. He smoothed her hair away from her face and looked up at her. She opened her eyes and met his. Jace kissed her again, softly, and once more, twice.

When he pulled back this time, Clary's eyes were closed, her breathing calmed somewhat.

"Jace?" she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"In case it wasn't obvious by the things I said earlier, and by the way I was kissing you just now," she opened her eyes once more, making sure to catch his before she continued, "I love you too."

Jace let out a relieved, breathy laugh. "Yeah, I kinda figured."

Clary leaned in, touching her lips to his and speaking against his mouth, "Can we go upstairs?"

"Tired?"

She shook her head and smiled. "No."

He grinned back, and stood, her legs still wrapped around him and his hands under her behind. Clary reached out and grabbed the lantern from on top of the piano as Jace started toward the door, and kissed him again, lightly, adoringly. There was nothing rushed about the way her lips touched him. There was nothing desperate about the way her fingers trailed over his face, neck, and shoulders. And when they finally reached his old room, there was nothing needy about the way she undressed him, or him her.

They lingered, slowly removing each piece of clothing, tenderly kissing every bared piece of flesh as the fabric fell free, touching each other as if they were made of ash and may crumble under the tiniest bit of pressure. This night wasn't about physical need. There was no take, nothing selfish or frantic about it. There was only giving, only affection.

As they stood there, exposed and shameless, Clary stared up at him, her eyes bright in the flickering light of the fire, and in them, Jace could see that everything she'd told him was true. Every single word. She did love him. Truly and completely. Her hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders, framing her features perfectly between each red lock, and she was beautiful. So God-damned beautiful.

"_Tu sei bella, cosi bella," _he said the same words he'd spoken before, but this time, they meant so much more. Jace brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, slowly tracing the contours of her face before it fell to her neck, and he whispered, _"La mia bella ragazza."_

Clary closed her eyes briefly and leaned into his touch. Jace's heart thumped against his ribs. She opened her eyes and held out her hand. He took it, lacing their fingers together and following her as she walked backward toward the bed, his gaze never straying from hers.

When her knees hit the mattress, she sat and slid herself back, one leg straight and one bent, her eyes still intent on Jace's. The golden hue of the flames washed over her body making her skin appear to glow. Jace sucked in a breath and bent, placing his hands on the bed to either side of her hips, his fingers splayed across the comforter. Clary scooted back a little further, and Jace followed, raising one knee to the mattress and then the other, unhurriedly crawling after her. She stopped when she hit the pillows piled on the end, and reached up, hooking her hand around the back of his neck, parting her lips, and pulling him into her. Jace opened to her, feeling the warmth and tasting the sweetness of her mouth, their kisses slow, lazy, teasing.

Clary's other hand came up, lightly moving up his side, the muscles of his back twitching under the tingling of her touch. After several minutes of the soft, gentle kisses and barely there caresses, Jace felt Clary's fingers dig into his back, signaling for him to come closer. Supporting his weight with one hand, he reached down and cupped her hip, sliding her body down to lay flat beneath him. For just one moment, he gazed at her, marveling at how she looked under him, waiting, wanting, and knowing she was only for him. Her green eyes and bright hair were a contrast against the paleness surrounding them. Jace moved his hand from her hip to her face, his thumb ghosting along her cheek, and then slowly, very slowly, he lowered himself onto her. She immediately wrapped her arms around his back, enveloping him in her embrace. And finally, it was enough. Holding her, kissing her, touching her, it was enough. The missing piece, the one thing that had always been denied—love—was finally there.

As Jace's fingers slid down every curve and mapped her entire body into his memory, his lips trailed after them, softly whispering the words he was finally brave enough to say over every inch of her skin. He couldn't say it too many times, or in a more intimate way. He needed her to hear it, to know it, to feel it, because a day would come in the near future where she might wonder whether or not he'd actually meant what he'd said. But there could be no doubt—he needed there to be no doubt, no question—because in his mind, in his heart, this feeling, this truth, this love, was pure and unequivocal. It was absolute.

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Italian translations:

_Lo penso che ti amo._ – I think I love you.

_Tu sei bella, cosi bella._ – You are beautiful, so beautiful.

_La mia bella ragazza._ – My beautiful girl.


	20. No Place Like Home

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**19. ****No Place Like Home**

_**Citrus warning for those who need it.**_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Skin – Rihanna (Both LLWB and I suggest you listen to this while reading scene 1. It will . . . enhance the reading experience. Hehe)_

_**Sweet and Low - Augustana_

_**Yours – Fay Wolf_

_**Secrets - OneRepublic_

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"Wake up, Jace."

He heard the whispered words echoing in the dark distance. Part of him wanted to obey them, but the other part wanted to stay right where he was, wrapped up and warm and happy. Something tickled his neck and chest, lightly, sending tingles throughout his body. But still, he kept his eyes shut.

"Come on, please?"

Jace groaned and flipped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow and refusing to surrender to her yet. But she didn't give up. With a soft giggle, she drew her fingers down his back, his skin burning under her touch. Her breath fanned over his ear and across his neck.

"Wake up, baby," Clary breathed.

A small smirk pulled at his lips. "Did you just call me 'baby'?"

"Mmhmm." She nodded against his face, her lips dancing along his jaw and teeth nipping at his ear. "Why? Don't you like?"

"No, I like. But I'm not falling for your seduction act." Jace tucked his arms under the pillow and snuggled down into it. "Too early."

"But we don't have much time here today. I don't want to waste it sleeping."

"You're not sleeping. I am. Now, go away." He yawned. "Someone kept me up way too late."

"I didn't hear you complaining."

"You'll never hear me complain when you get naked with me."

Jace felt her smile against his neck. "We're still naked, Cass." Her hand slipped under the covers, trailing down his spine then moving lower still. "And you have the most fantastic ass." Her fingers slid over the side of his hips. "I wonder what other fantastical things I'll find under here." She lifted the covers slightly to duck underneath and a shock of cold air slipped inside.

"Jesus!" Jace's eyes flew open. "It's freezing!"

Clary's gaze moved to his and she smiled slyly. "Good morning, Sunshine. What's wrong? You don't like that?" She lifted the blankets once more, letting in another draft.

Jace shivered and held onto his pillow tighter, trying to tuck what he had left of the sheet around him at the same time. "You'd better stop."

"Or what?" She raised the covers higher this time, letting in the biggest draft yet. "You gonna make me? You'll have to wake up to do that."

Jace groaned again and stubbornly grabbed Clary's pillow, pulling it over his head. "You're an evil woman."

Clary laughed and ripped the covers away from him completely.

"Damn it!" he shouted into the pillows and bolted up, grabbing her by the arms as she held the blankets out of reach. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and her bottom lip was trapped between her teeth.

Her gaze darted down, and rose back to his, her brows lifted. "Well, I see the rumors about how men wake up are true even in the cold. Very impressive, Cass."

Jace pulled her into him, her soft body yielding immediately to his. "It won't be true much longer if you don't give me back those blankets, Spitfire. Even I can't maintain in these extreme conditions." His lips lowered to her neck, kissing along the base. "So if you want me to remain functional, you'd better make me warm."

"Warm?" Clary raised a brow. "Is that all?" Moving forward, she untucked her legs from underneath her and straddled him. Her fingers traced a line from his collarbone all the way down his chest, pausing to spread across his abs and then going even lower still.

Jace closed his eyes and rested his forehead on her shoulder as she continued to tease.

"Because I can do warm." Her hands slid up his body, moving over his shoulders and neck and threading into his hair. God, she felt good. Every single part she touched burned after her fingers trailed over them. Slowly, she rose up on her knees, shifted slightly, and lowered herself onto him.

Jace's breath caught and his hands grasped at her hips.

"Is that all you need?" she asked, her voice trembling with restraint as she held very still. "For me to make you warm?"

Jace shook his head, unable to vocalize, barely able to breathe. Every sensation was magnified. He didn't know if it was because of what had changed between them the night before, or if it was the cold air nipping at his back, but somehow it was as if every nerve ending in his body was raw and exposed. He could feel every inch of her against him, each degree of heat surrounding him.

"What do you need?" she whispered into his hair, her arms wrapping around his back, bringing the blankets with her and cocooning them both inside their warmth. "I'll give you whatever you need."

Still, he couldn't speak, so instead, he pulled against her hips gently, lifting them and letting them fall back down, his breath faltering once more at the sensation sparking through him. Pleasure so intense it was almost painful.

"Tell me," she breathed.

Jace squeezed his eyes tighter and sucked in a breath. "Move." His voice came out strained. "I need—Move, baby. Please move."

Her fingers ghosted over his forehead, pushing back the hair hanging in his eyes. "Lie back," she said.

He glanced up, meeting her gaze, questions in his.

Clary raised her hands to his face once more, and leaned in, kissing his cheeks, chin, eyelids, and then finally his mouth. "Trust me. Lie back."

Doing as he was told, Jace lay back, his head hitting the pillows with a soft thud. Clary sat over him, still straddling his hips as she bent, pressing her entire torso to his. Taking his hands and entwining their fingers together, she stretched them over his head. He felt his body tense, not used to not being in control.

"Shh," Clary said, seeming to sense his unease. "It's not about that. Just . . . let me show you." She fanned small kisses over his forehead and down his nose, her fingers squeezing his. "Last night you showed me, and now it's my turn. Let me, Jace. Let me show you."

One by one, his muscles loosened and he felt an air of calm slip over him. He nodded and she kissed him once more, gently, slowly. And then, just as he'd almost relaxed fully, she moved.

It was as if his entire body had been dipped in a sea of sensation. His skin radiated with it, and every movement she made sent another wave crashing over him, devouring him whole beneath her. Her hands clutched his hard and he returned the pressure, needing something, anything to counteract what she was doing to him.

The entire time, Clary whispered in his ear. Sweet words about how much she loved him, how good he felt, and how much she wanted to make him feel good too. Her breath was warm and moist against his face, the feel of it only adding to every other desire building inside him.

It didn't take long for his body to coil tight, threatening to snap at any second. Jace pulled against her grip, but she wouldn't loosen her hold. He could easily break free if he wanted, but didn't want to disrupt what she had planned.

"Clary . . ." he warned, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He tugged again. "Please . . ."

Her eyes were closed and she nodded. "It's okay."

"No." Jace shook his head. "You . . ."

Clary looked down on him. "I'm good. I promise. I'm so, so good."

She wasn't "good". At least not the kind of good he wanted her to be. "Stop," he whispered frantically, closing his eyes, his restraint dwindling fast. So, so fast. "Stop, stop, stop! Oh, God, please, just for a minute, stop."

Clary stilled above him, and he held his breath, his entire body a live wire. If she moved even a fraction, he feared it would be all over. His heart pounded and his pulse raced, blood flying through his veins. He was right at the edge of the cliff, so close to toppling head first over it, but he didn't want to fall. Not yet.

"Jace . . . ?" she asked uncertainly.

"Just . . . just don't move." His heart continued to thrash.

Finally, when he felt he could breathe again, he opened his eyes and met hers. She stared down at him, her gaze curious and worried at the same time.

"What's wrong? Isn't it . . . good?"

"No. God, Clary, no. It's good. So good. It's just . . ." he let out a breath, "it's just that I'm already . . . and you're . . ."

She smiled and bent to kiss him. "I know. It's okay, really. I wanted this to be about you. Not me."

Jace looked up at her, the sincerity in her gaze making his chest hurt. "You know that thing I told you last night? About how I'm in love with you?" He said it easily, as if it were not a question, but a fact. Because now it was. There was no use in denying it. Not now. Not ever. She nodded. "That means that it's never just about me. Not anymore." Clary released a nearly inaudible gasp, and he lowered his voice. "Now, let me have my hands. Please. Let me make it just as good for you."

Her eyes stayed glued to his, and after a few moments, she slowly loosened her hold, her fingers slipping away from his and dragging along his inner forearm. Goose bumps rose under her touch. Jace took Clary's face between his palms, pulling her lips to his and kissing them sweetly at first, and then harder, deeper. He lowered one hand, running it along her body, stopping to touch, tickle, and stroke every point that brought her that much closer to falling apart. And he kept it up until she was a mass of trembling tension above him.

"Jace," she whispered and shifted just slightly in question.

He nodded, his own body more than ready. Lowering his hands to her hips, he curled his fingers into her flesh and held on tight, responding with a simple, "Yes, baby."

Clary let her breath out in a whoosh and crashed her mouth to his, her fists twisting in his hair as she started to move once more. Jace wrapped his arms around her, holding her body against his, skin on heated skin. And there he was again, teetering on the edge and fighting to stay on top while she climbed up after him. But this time, she wasn't far behind. He didn't mind waiting, he could hold out for her to reach him. As long as when they took that plunge and fell . . . they fell together.

.o.O.o.

Clary stood in front of the large picture window in Jace's bedroom, looking down on the gardens located at the back of the house. She recognized the hedges and greenhouse from when she and Jace had come through before. If she squinted, she could even make out the opening to the path that led to the playground on the other side of the woods. To the right, there was another line of trees. Behind them, she could see a thin trail of smoke curling into the air. Clary wondered if that was where Stella and Marvin lived.

Gripping the sides of the comforter she held around her, Clary leaned closer to the window, eying the slab stone walkway that led to the back door below. It really was a beautiful house. So much thought and detail went into every part. Big things, small things, it didn't matter. Someone had obviously cared a lot about this place to make it as lovely as it was.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs drew Clary's attention away from the window. Just as she turned, Jace strolled into the room, his arms full of logs for the fire and a grocery bag of food hanging over his wrist. He knelt down in front of the fireplace, tossed one of the pieces of wood into the flames, and piled the others in their designated space next to the hearth.

Crossing over to the bed, he sat, kicked off his shoes, and peeled his sweatshirt over his head. Underneath, all he wore was a black wife beater and a pair of low hanging dark-washed jeans. The colors made the straight and swirling tattoos on his arm stand out, accentuating the lean muscles of his forearm, bicep and shoulder. God, he was the sexiest thing alive, Clary was pretty sure.

He glanced up and met her gaze. Raising the bag he held, he shook it and asked, "Hungry?"

"Possibly," Clary said, grinning as she moved toward him. "As long as I don't have to share my fruit snacks this time."

"Nope," Jace said as she plopped down next to him. "I ate all those already."

"You did not!" Clary snatched the bag away from him and rooted around inside until she found what she was looking for. Closing her fingers around the small packet, her brows lifted as she pulled it from the sack, waving it in the air. "Ha!"

He shook his head and smiled, grabbing a granola bar for himself. They ate in silence for a few minutes, neither feeling the need to fill the air with noise. It wasn't uncomfortable not to speak like it was with other people. Just being there with each other was enough. The crackle and spit of the fire covered the quiet anyway.

Clary let her eyes continue to wander around the room, taking in the cream-colored walls and dark molding. The stone fireplace stood as the only real decorative piece in the entire space, but even still, it seemed enough. It still felt inviting. It still felt warm. There really was no need for anything else.

After several moments, Clary sighed and leaned into Jace, placing her head on his shoulder and running her fingers up and down his arm. "You know what I think?"

"No, but I assume you're going to tell me."

She pinched him and grinned when he jumped in response. "I think you should live here."

"That would be some commute every morning."

"I don't mean all the time—especially right now with school. But, you should think about it. Maybe for just the weekends for now." She tilted her head and met his gaze. Reaching up, she touched his cheek, letting her fingers glide over his stubbly jaw. "You should see how you are here. How . . . free you seem. I can tell it's special to you, so why not?"

Jace pursed his lips and looked up, staring off into the distance. "Hmm. Maybe . . ."

Clary smiled and lowered her face once more, pressing her lips to his shoulder briefly before continuing her tracing along his arm. After a bit, she realized she wasn't just absently touching him, but rather deliberately following the ink in his skin. She started at his wrist, moving up the straight lines until they twisted in on each other, knotting together and wrapping around his forearm, knotting again, and then straightening before repeating the pattern once more. Although, it wasn't a pattern exactly. The whole thing consisted of bars and twists, but they didn't occur in the same intervals, nor in the same shapes and size. There was a sort of organized disorganization to it though.

Clary followed the design up to his shoulder, slipping her fingers under the band of his shirt and peeking underneath. Wanting to continue her exploration, she moved behind him and lowered her hands to the hem of his top, tugging it up.

Jace turned to her and raised a brow. "Didn't get enough earlier?" He flashed her that damn sexy smirk.

"Shut up." She kissed along his clavicle and lowered her lips to his shoulder blade. "I just want to look at your tattoo."

"Uh huh," he said, reaching back to grab his collar and pulling it over his head. "Like I'd believe that. You just can't get enough of me."

Rising up on her knees, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned around, brushing her mouth over his cheek. "You're such a cocky ass."

Jace looked back at her, his lips grazing hers as he said, "You love it."

"Don't be so sure." Clary kissed him quickly and retreated back behind him, lifting her hands to the shoulder she'd left off on.

The randomness on his back was more than on his arm. There was no rhyme to the way the lines curled and twisted together, almost like vines stretching from one side to the other. But still, it felt natural in a way Clary couldn't describe. Like there was a reason to its madness. One she wanted to know.

"Jace?" she asked, her fingers moving over his flesh, feeling the taut muscle under the raised lines and smooth skin.

"Hmm?"

"What does it mean?" She traced a knot at the center of his spine, flowing down to the network of curves and dips that disappeared around his side. "People say there's always a story behind tattoos. What's yours?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't really call it a story as much as a statement."

"What kind of statement?"

"A screw you statement."

Clary snorted. "What?"

Jace laughed and shook his head. "You don't want to hear this. It's clichéd and immature."

"I do too want to hear it." She leaned in and pressed herself against his back, wrapping her arms around him. "I want to know everything about you."

He raised his hands to hold her arms. "It's the same old story. I was sick of my parents and wanted to piss them off."

"But how was a tattoo supposed to piss them off? You said they barely noticed you to begin with?" Anger flooded her veins just speaking the words.

Jace sighed and turned to face her, pulling her into his lap. He rested his hands on her waist. "That's true, but _other_ people noticed me. A lot." He scoffed. "They were always telling my parents what a handsome boy I was, praising them as if they'd accomplished this amazing feat by creating an attractive child. As if it made them special by some means." Jace locked eyes with Clary. "Like I've said before, image was everything to them, my mother especially. So when people would compliment her on me, she would act like it was everything, that their approval was everything."

Clary frowned at the thought.

"As I grew older and 'more attractive'—as the people put it—my mother's vanity grew. Soon, she wouldn't let me choose my own clothes or my own hairstyle. Hell, she wouldn't even let me eat junk food because she was afraid I'd 'ruin my physique or skin.' He rolled his eyes. "I didn't care about any of that stuff. I was a kid—and a _guy_, you know? I mean, sure, I wanted to look good, wanted girls to notice me, to want me, but I couldn't have cared less about my parent's pretentious friends. So, when I turned sixteen, I got a fake I.D. and got this." Jace pointed to the knot on his shoulder.

Clary fingered the spot, feeling his muscle tighten underneath. She bit her lip and grinned up at him. "Little did you know you were only making yourself sexier."

"Oh, I knew, baby." He smirked. "But, of course, my mother didn't see it that way. I swear, I thought she was going to kill me. She called every plastic surgeon she knew to try to get someone to remove it. Finally, she found one, but do you know what I did on the day I was supposed to be having it removed?"

Clary shook her head.

Jace leaned in and kissed her lightly, whispering against her lips, "I got these." His fingers slid along the bands extending down from the knot, twisting around his bicep and ending at his elbow.

"You were so naughty."

He nodded with a self-satisfied grin. "But it worked. My mother quit getting all those comments about how pretty I was and she stopped making me dress the way she wanted. I grew my hair out, wore what I wanted, did what I wanted, got girls—because, you know, I was now officially a 'bad boy.'" Jace wrapped his arms around Clary's waist and pulled her in, his breath flowing over her cheeks as he spoke. "And we all know how much you girls like a bad boy."

"Mmhmm," she said, taking his face between her hands. "We only like the bad boy that really isn't a bad boy at all. He just looks and acts like one."

"But how do you know the difference? I could genuinely be bad and now you're stuck with me."

"You only think you are." She kissed him chastely. "I wouldn't love you if you were—I'd just want to jump your bones a couple . . . hundred times."

Jace laughed and twisted them around until Clary found herself on her back with him hovering over her. "And I'd let you. As many times as you felt it would take to get me out of your system."

"I'm sure you would, Cass. Because you're so giving and all."

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm just that great of guy."

Clary tried not to encourage his narcissism with her smile but she couldn't help it and grinned up at him. "Why this particular design though? I mean, there has to be some reason you chose it."

Jace let out a breath and stared down at his arm. "I chose the knot because that's how I felt. Knotted up, trapped." He paused. "I wanted to get away, to be my own person and not just a little doll they could parade around when they felt like it and toss back into the toy box when they didn't. I didn't want to be who they wanted me to be, but I couldn't get out." His finger slid along the braided lines branching away from the knot. "And these show my escape—even if at the time it was only internal, I was determined to break free. Sure I was still twisted up, but I knew, someday, I would make it out."

Clary blinked up at him. Finally getting it. Finally realizing just how much damage his parent's neglect and selfishness had done to him. The story was written all over his skin.

"Every time they pissed me off, I got more. And even though they didn't know what the reason behind the design was, they did get to see their perfect canvas being destroyed," he continued, glancing at her, a sly look in his eyes. "I told you it was immature and clichéd."

"I don't really think it is."

"You don't think it was immature to mark my body just to ugly up what my mother thought she'd made so beautiful?"

"It would be if I thought that was really the only motivation behind it."

Jace raised a brow and lowered himself onto her, resting his chin on his hands, his face now only inches from hers. "Oh, do tell, Spitfire."

Clary lifted her hand and swiped a pair of curls that had fallen over his forehead out of his face. "I think more than just wanting to piss her off, you were exerting your independence. That independence you just told me you wanted—the freedom from being their puppet—their doll. Showing her and everyone else that you were your own man. That you didn't want or need their approval on what you should be or how you should look. That you were confident enough in who you were, to be able to be the kind of man you wanted." She trailed her fingers down his cheeks and held his eyes with hers. "And I think the reason she was upset, wasn't because you'd 'uglied anything up'—because we both know that's an impossibility. You're just as beautiful as you've always been, I'm quite certain—but because she no longer had control over you. You stole that from her the moment you let that needle pierce your skin. The moment you became _you_. And I think that, somewhere deep inside, that was always your motivation. To let her know that no matter how much she fought against it or tried to change it, you were happy with who you were, and you were going to live that way. You were going to break free."

He stared down at her, the expression on his face almost pained. Slowly, he closed his eyes and lowered his head to hers, letting out a breath. "It's not normal to feel like this."

Clary ran her fingers through his hair, lifting her chin to kiss his lightly. "To feel like what?"

"Just . . ." Jace squeezed his eyes tighter before opening them. "So much." He clamped his hands around her cheeks, holding her face flush with his. "I just feel so much, and I can't tell whether it feels good or if it hurts."

"I know." Clary nodded, knowing the feeling well. At the moment, her heart was beating so hard and fast against her ribs she was afraid it may break one. "I think it's supposed to be like that."

"Jesus, why in the hell does anyone want it then?" He furrowed his brows and scrunched his nose.

Clary couldn't help but laugh at his expression.

"Stop laughing at me. It's not funny." He cracked a grin.

"I can't help it." She giggled harder. "You look so cute when you make that face. Like a little boy."

Jace raised a brow. "You're calling me a little boy? You're one to talk little Miss Five-Foot-Nothing."

"Is that supposed to be an insult? I'm five-two, by the way."

"I knew you were going to be trouble the first time I laid eyes on you." He sighed. "Still, I wanted you from the second you walked into that back room."

"But I yelled at you!"

"Yeah, but you had me at: 'I don't need your help, Pretty Boy.'"

"Oh, God." Clary looked down. "I acted like such a witch."

Jace chuckled, slipping a finger under her chin. "I thought it was damn hot—you have no idea."

"But . . ." She let him guide her face up. "You had a skank attached to your face!"

"And I've been meaning to thank you for that interruption . . ." He bent down to kiss her, but Clary stopped him just before their lips touched, her palms flat against his chest. Jace frowned.

"Jace . . ." she trailed off, not quite sure she wanted to voice the question swirling around in her mind. She'd told herself she didn't want to know, but when it came to this, for some reason she needed to. "About Aline . . ." Closing her eyes, she took in a breath and opened them again.

"What about her? Is she still bothering you?"

Clary shook her head. "No, that's not it."

"Then what?"

"Did you . . ." She looked up at him and grimaced. She didn't _want_ to ask. "Did you and Aline . . . you know . . ."

Jace raised a brow, his mouth lifting in a half smirk. "Are you asking if I slept with her?"

Clary felt the heat rise to her cheeks and she covered her face with her hands. "Yes. Okay? Yes. I want to know if you had sex with Aline."

She felt his hands cover hers and start to pry them away from her face, but she resisted, not wanting him to see how red she must have been.

"Baby, look at me," he said softly.

Sucking in a breath, Clary removed her hands and stared up at him. Her face was so hot she was certain it would catch fire soon.

Jace ran his fingers down her cheeks, his eyes moving over her. "You don't have to be embarrassed to ask me that. I told you I'd tell you if you wanted to know."

She shook her head. "I only want to know about her."

He looked at her for several long seconds before answering, "No. I never slept with Aline. What you walked in on was the only time I even kissed her."

Clary let out a breath. "I'm sorry. I just . . ." A smile broke out over her face. "I'm just so relieved to know I've had a piece of you she hasn't."

Jace smiled. "Clary, you've had a lot of pieces of me that she hasn't." The grin slipped from his face and his expression became serious as he studied her. "And one piece no one has ever had."

"Really? And what's that?"

He looked at her again before lowering his gaze and running his fingers down her arm. She followed them with her eyes. When he reached her hand, he lifted it slowly and pressed her palm against his chest right over his heart. It beat hard and strong beneath Clary's touch. Her breath caught in her throat as her own heart sped. Lifting her gaze, she was met by his. He held her hand, his fingers splayed over hers, keeping it captive against him.

"_I__l mio cuore è tuo__._" Leaning in, he touched her lips with the lightest kiss and whispered against her mouth, "This is yours. Only yours."

Clary swiped her thumb over his skin, feeling the tangible evidence of what he was saying. "Mine," she breathed.

Jace nodded as Clary pulled him in closer, kissing him again, his mouth so soft and warm. He broke free from her only momentarily to say one last word,

"Yours."

.o.O.o.

"Oh, how I've missed you, ugly yellow tile!" Simon exclaimed the moment Clary opened the apartment door.

She'd thought coming home would be hard and that she wouldn't want to be there. That the memories from everything that had happened in the past few weeks would make her unable to ever feel at ease here. The whole ride back to the city, she'd dreaded leaving the manor and having to step foot back in this apartment. But having Simon here—uninjured and acting like his same old self—kept the anxiety from taking her over. Maybe life could go back to how it had been—maybe she could live here without the fear.

Simon walked slowly down the hallway, his fingers swiping everything in his path. "And you, little entryway table—I'll forgive you for tripping me while I tried to escape. But just this once." Pausing just at the end, Simon pointed up to the empty space on the wall and turned back to Clary. "Where's the mirror?"

"Your head decided to do some redecorating," Jace said, closing the door behind him. "Not the method I would have chosen, but I suppose it did its job."

Clary thrust her elbow into his side. He glanced down at her with a, "What?" expression. She glared at him as if to say, "You know what." Jace rolled his eyes.

Simon ignored both of them and launched himself onto the couch, burying his face in the cushions and mumbling something about how his butt wouldn't leave them for at least a day. Clary shook her head and smiled at the idiocy that was her best friend. Somehow, in the course of the last few days, she'd forgotten just how carefree he made her feel. When she'd shown up on his mother's doorstep to pick him up, he'd literally fallen to his knees and hugged her legs. Something she would probably tease him about for the rest of his life.

A sharp buzz broke Clary out of her thoughts. Jace reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his forehead creasing as he read the message on the screen. After a moment, he texted back, his face growing more and more troubled.

Clary placed her hand on his arm, feeling the rigidity in his muscles. "Something wrong?"

His head snapped up as if he'd forgotten she was even there. Jace smoothed his expression immediately. "Oh, uh, no. No, everything's fine." He slid the phone back into his pocket and finally met her gaze.

Something hid behind his golden eyes—something Clary couldn't quite place, something that made a wave of nervousness curl in her stomach.

"I need to go out for a bit. Will you be okay here until Isabelle gets back?"

Clary studied him carefully, not liking the feeling of anxiety rolling off from him. "Yes, we'll both be fine, but . . ." She bit her lip. "Jace, you're kinda freaking me out. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

Jace bent down to her, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry. Yes, everything's fine. I just need to go take care of something. It's nothing to worry about, okay?"

She nodded, but didn't feel the least bit okay. Something about that text had bothered him and the fact that he was denying it, made her chest clench uneasily. She didn't like him keeping things from her. But what could she do? She'd asked him and he said it was nothing. Maybe she was just blowing his reaction out of proportion. Maybe it really _was_ nothing.

Jace placed his hand against her cheek, his thumb resting on her jaw as he brushed his lips over her forehead. Clary closed her eyes and tightened her fists in his jacket. Even though they were home, the high from last evening hadn't quite worn off yet, and she knew the moment he walked out the door, it would all end. Life would return to the way it was before.

"I'll be back soon. With plenty of time to take you to work."

Clary tilted her chin to look at him. "You don't need to do that. I can get there—"

Jace touched a finger to her lips, silencing her before tracing them with the pad of his thumb. "I'll take you. I'm not about to send you out there alone, unprotected."

"I wasn't suggesting going alone. I could have Simon or Isabelle go with me. Or I could even call a cab." She stared at him. "It's not your job to protect me, Jace."

He looked at her as if she'd said the most idiotic thing he'd ever heard. "Yes, it is."

Clary swallowed against the swell of emotion caught in her throat.

Jace leaned into her once more, closing his eyes. "I know you think I'm being over-protective," he said quietly. "But I can't—If something happened, and I—I just—"

"Okay. Okay." Clary reached up and held his face between her hands, their lips nearly touching. "I get it. I'll wait." She smoothed his hair away from his cheeks. "I'll wait."

He tucked his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. "Thank you."

Clary kissed him once, twice, three times before drawing back. His eyes were still closed as if he were savoring every kiss. Finally he opened them and his mouth drew up into that devilish smirk she loved so much.

"I'll be here when you get back," she said, smiling.

Jace let go of her and took a step back toward the door. "Lock up," he said, one brow raised in challenge.

"Yes, sir."

He narrowed his eyes and grasped the handle. "Smartass."

Clary pinched the edges of her shirt, pulled them out, and curtsied.

Jace shook his head and grinned wider, opening the door and taking one step out before looking back at her. "Later, baby."

Clary lowered her gaze and giggled, but when she glanced back up, he was gone. She let out a slow breath and proceeded to turn the lock, deadbolt, and attach the chain. When finished, she moved back to the living room, where Simon stared at her in shock—or maybe it was disgust, she couldn't be sure which.

"Somebody has some explaining to do," he said.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She turned abruptly into the kitchen and rooted around in the refrigerator for something to eat. A lone green apple caught her attention and she picked it up, rubbing the outer on her shirt.

"Oh, I think you do." Simon's voice came from behind her.

Clary yelped and spun around, dropping the apple to the floor. "Damn it, Simon! That was the last one." She bent and picked the fruit up from the tile, feeling the mushy bruised side. With a groan she tossed it in the trash.

Simon stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, peering at her over the rims of his glasses. He pushed away from the doorframe and crossed the room, opening the freezer and emerging with a carton of ice cream.

He looked at her and held the treat in the air. "You know you didn't want that healthy stuff anyway. I think this conversation needs sugar and loads of fat content." Simon moved to the counter and withdrew two spoons from the dish-drying rack next to the sink. When he walked past Clary, he waved her after him and continued on to the living room.

Clary sighed and followed behind, sinking onto the couch beside him. Simon handed her a spoon and opened the lid, immediately sinking his into the creamy frozen goodness.

"I don't know what you're making such a big deal about," Clary said, taking a large scoop and shoving it in her mouth, swallowing before continuing. "It's not like you've never seen us together before. I mean, you walked in on him kissing me in the kitchen."

Simon stared at her for a moment before taking another bite. "I actually walked in before there was any kissing, and you're right, it was _him_ trying to kiss_ you_ that time. I had totally convinced myself that if I hadn't walked in, you would have hauled off and smacked him." He licked his spoon. "That's how I fought back the incredible swell of nausea the sight caused me." He dropped his utensil into the carton and grimaced. "But this time . . . this time_ you_ kissed him. Right. In. Front. Of. Me."

Clary snorted and shoveled more ice cream into her mouth. "At least I didn't use tongue."

Simon gagged.

Clary glanced at him. "Oh, come on, Simon. It's not like you didn't know I liked him."

"Yeah, but . . . I know you, Clary, and that wasn't just 'like.'"

She shrugged and took another bite.

When Simon didn't comment, she looked up. His eyes were drawn together and worried. "What?" she asked.

"Just answer me one question, and I promise I won't go all crazy-protective-best-friend on you."

"Good, because I've already got one stubborn guy with a hero complex. I don't need two."

"Are you in love with him?"

Clary choked on her ice cream.

Simon crossed his arms over his chest and sank back into the couch cushions. "I figured as much."

She swiped the melted treat off from her chin. "Is that a bad thing?"

He sighed. "Clary . . . I just worry about you. Once you give your heart, that's it. It's gone." Simon drummed his fingers against his thigh. "I just don't know if he deserves it."

Clary dropped her spoon into the tub and set it on the end table. Turning back, she caught Simon's hands in hers. "He does."

"I hope so." Simon met her eyes. "I really do."

She threw herself back into the cushions beside him. "You just don't want to have to live up to your promise to punch him if he hurts me."

"That's . . . not the only reason."

Clary turned her head to face him and grinned. "Maybe not the only reason, but I'm pretty sure it's the biggest."

Simon scowled and shoved her away from him. "Whatever. He's probably not even as tough as he looks. I bet I could take him."

"I don't know, Si," she teased. "He's pretty strong."

"I do _not_ want to know how you know that."

"No, you probably don't."

"Ugh!" Simon made a disgusted face and fell over onto his side, pulling one of the throw pillows over his face. "For the love of God, don't say another word!"

Clary laughed and leaned onto him, draping her arm over his side and laying her head on his ribs. "I really missed you while you were gone."

"It was only three days." He paused. "Although it felt like so much longer." His hand rested on top of her head. "Please remind me of this the next time I even think about missing my mother."

She snorted. "God, you're such a baby."

Simon was silent for a few moments and then he said, "I missed you too."

Clary closed her eyes and snuggled into him, letting her mind and body relax. It felt like forever since it had just been the two of them. She realized that with everything that had happened recently, and her new relationship status, her friendship had taken a back seat. For so long, they'd been pretty much all the other had. Neither of them were what anyone would call "popular" in school. She'd been the resident art geek, and he'd been…well, a geek. But that never mattered to either of them. They were who they were, and Clary loved Simon just how he was. And she was pretty sure he felt the same about her.

Craning her neck to look up at him, Clary said, "Si—" But was interrupted when her phone buzzed with an incoming message. With a frown, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out, her heart going cold at the message on the screen. She sat up quickly, her pulse racing.

Simon rose and moved in next to her. "What's wrong?"

Clary shook her head, unable to speak. Simon leaned over her shoulder to peer at the message. She swallowed and read the words once more.

_Be careful who you trust._

"Be careful who you trust . . ." Simon read the message aloud. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She opened her mouth to answer, when the phone buzzed again. Clary jumped in her place and pressed the "open message" button.

_Do you know where your boyfriend is? _

This message had an attachment. Clary's finger hovered over the open button, not sure whether or not she wanted to see. After several moments of debating, she pressed down, opening the file. An image filled the screen. Clary's breath caught in her throat and her phone tumbled from her fingers to the couch cushions below.

.o.O.o.

Jace came to a stop in the alley just outside his building. He cut the engine to his bike and climbed off, pulling the helmet from his head. His hand found its way to his hair and he let out a slow breath. Even though it was small, and he shouldn't be able to feel it, he was completely aware of the weight of the memory stick in the breast pocket of his jacket.

Hanging his helmet from the handle bar, Jace made his way toward the front door and up the stairs to Clary's apartment. He knocked, and as he waited for her to answer, he considered what he might find on that stick. When he'd presented Maryse with everything he'd learned so far about Clary's case and the incidents with the stalkers, he'd made sure she knew that all of this needed to be kept between them. She'd agreed, especially when he showed her the lock pick containing the Agency's logo. She hadn't been convinced it meant the Agency was involved, but promised to collect all the information herself.

Clary's door swung open, and there she stood, dressed in her work uniform, her hair pulled up into a loose bun, strands falling loose around her face.

Jace smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," she said, backing out of the door and locking it with her key before facing him once more. She was not smiling.

He blinked. Her reaction seemed odd considering the way he'd left her earlier. "You all right?"

"Peachy," Clary said, pushing past him and making her way toward the stairs.

Jace stood frozen in his place for a few seconds, wondering what had gotten into her. He shook himself out of his shock, and followed behind. Clary didn't speak or look at him the entire way outside. His concern grew the longer she stayed distant from him.

When they stopped at the bike, both of them reached out for the helmet at the same time, causing their hands to touch. Clary jerked hers away as if he'd burned her. Jace dropped his to his side and studied her. She held her body stiff, her posture warning him not to touch. Her eyes were trained on the ground and her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.

"Okay," Jace said, taking a step forward. "What in the hell is going on?"

Finally she looked up, and Jace's breath almost caught at the look in her eyes. It wasn't anger, as he expected, but hurt. "Maybe I should ask you the same question."

"What?"

She sucked in a breath and averted her gaze. "Where did you go?"

"What?" he asked again, confused. "I told you I had something to take care of . . ."

Clary let out a strained laugh and pushed past him, making her way back toward the street.

Jace followed. "Where are you going?"

"To work."

He reached out and grabbed her arm, twirling her back to him. "Jesus, Clary, would you please tell me what's going on?"

"Where were you?" Her voice shook.

Jace racked his brain trying to figure out why his whereabouts were important. He couldn't tell her why he'd gone where he'd gone, but it wouldn't hurt to tell her some. "Maryse said she had some stuff for me and asked me to meet—"

Clary ripped her arm out of his grasp and stomped away before he could even finish. Jace jogged after her, grabbed her shoulders and pushed her up against the wall, trapping her between it and himself.

"Let me go, Jace."

He shook his head. "Not until you tell me what the hell this is all about."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, fumbling with it for a moment before finding what she wanted. Her eyes lifted to his, the same pain encompassing them. "Last chance to change your story."

Jace stared at her, his mind completely unable to comprehend why she was acting the way she was. Suddenly, she thrust her phone into his face, a picture filling the screen. He reached up and took the device from her hand, letting his eyes focus on the scene in front of him. It was him, just an hour before, at the diner Maryse had specified for the meeting, a smirk on his face, and his arms wrapped around a girl with flowing blond hair.

* * *

_Going to go hide while donning my flame retardant suit._

_P.S. Drawings of DJ's tattoos are posted on my profile-I'm not an artist so no flaming my drawing skills, ha!  
_

_LLWB – you rock, and I love you. SUCK IT! *muah*_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_

_I__l mio cuore è tuo. – _My heart is yours.


	21. Sweet Little Lies

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**20. Sweet Little Lies**

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Lie to Me – 12 Stones_

_**Wonderwall – Oasis_

_**Bust a Move – Young MC_

_**F**kin' Perfect – Pink_

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Jace's fingers wrapped around Clary's phone, brushing hers as he withdrew it from her grip. She fought against the urge to close her eyes. Even with all of the conflicting and confusing feelings, she couldn't help but want him to touch her. Carefully. Gently. Like he had the night before and just that morning. Reassuring and reminding her of all of the things they'd shared. Just that one little graze of his skin against hers was enough to send her heart flying.

Clary's emotions were all over the place. Anger, sadness, frustration, confusion, hurt—every single feeling she could have in a situation like this she was having. It felt a little irrational. Jace had done nothing—_nothing_—to make her question him. Other than the fact that before they'd met, he'd been an incurable man-whore. But was that really fair of her to use at the moment? Oh, God! She was the jealous girlfriend! The typical jealous girlfriend. The thought made her want to roll her eyes at herself.

But the moment that message and photo had arrived in her inbox, the nagging doubt crept in. Clary tried to hold it off, to remind herself of last night and this morning, to wait until Jace could explain it away. But the more time that went by, the more she started to question everything. The more she started to wonder: Who _could_ she trust? She hated herself for letting that uncertainty in. For letting whoever sent those messages get the best of her. It wasn't fair to Jace. But . . . Who was that girl, and why was he holding her? Why was he _smirking_ at her? Oh, the smirk. She knew that smirk. His super sexy, "come hither" smirk. There was only ever one reason for him to use it.

Anger ignited again. Clary couldn't help it. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. Whatever the reason, she just needed him to make it go away. To tell her it had all been a misunderstanding. Or even better—that the photo was doctored and wasn't even real. But he didn't say any of that.

He just stared at the photo, his face devoid of any and all expression. "Where'd you get this?" Jace asked slowly.

Clary's heart slammed to a stop. "Where did I—" The resentment she'd been feeling multiplied and flooded her veins, heating her body to the point of combustion. "Where did I get it?" Her voice rose in volume. "That's what you're going to say first? _Where did I get it?_" she repeated incredulously.

His head snapped up and his brows pulled together. "What else would I say? It seems an important question considering someone is following me around."

Clary snatched the phone from his hand and held it in front of her, shaking it in his face. "So, you're not going to deny it?"

Jace looked even more confused. "Deny it? Why would I—" And then his face changed. His forehead smoothed and he pulled away from her, realization filling his features. "Oh, I see. So that's how it is? You immediately go there?"

"Where do you expect me to go, Jace?"

"I expect you to have a little more faith in me than that. I mean, how could you think—"

"How could I_ not_ think it? You took off with no explanation. And now this picture? What else am I supposed to think? Obviously you didn't want me to know where you were going." Clary's voice had risen to a shout. People passing by eyed them as they made their way down the street.

"So that's all it takes?" Jace pointed at the phone in her hand, his own voice rising in volume. "One little picture and you just assume I'm cheating?"

"I didn't say that! But you're not denying it, are you?"

"I shouldn't have to deny it, Clary! Of all the things . . ." He paused to collect himself, not really succeeding as his shoulders visibly tightened. "Of all the things you could choose to not trust me with, and you choose this. I thought I'd proven how I felt about you. I thought—"

"Then tell me, Jace. Who is this? Why are you holding her?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why does it matter? You wouldn't believe me anyway, would you? You've already made up your mind about what happened. You decided that long before you even saw me." He shook his head and took a step back. "At least now I know. I know how you really see me."

"Jace, that's not fair."

"Isn't it?" he said loudly, causing a few more people to stop and peer into the alley at them. "Is this what I have to look forward to every time I'm around another girl? Every time I talk to one? I'm always just going to be a player to you, aren't I? I'm always going to be _that_ guy."

"Damn it, Jace! Why can't you just—"

"Why can't I just _what_?" he said exasperatedly. "Defend myself? Give you a drawn out explanation of who she is and why I'm hugging her so you can feel better about all this? So you can forget doubting me in the first place? Excuse me if I don't feel like playing this game."

"You'd expect the exact same thing in my position, and don't try to tell me you wouldn't!"

"But the difference is I wouldn't assume the worst first."

"That's because I've never given you a reason to!" The words were out before she could even think to stop them.

Jace deflated in front of her, his shoulders dropping and his breath leaving him in a rush like she'd punched him in the gut. He stepped back again, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. The distance between them felt like miles instead of mere feet.

Clary knew she should take it back, tell him she didn't mean it, but in that moment, she didn't want to. He was the one who wouldn't explain himself. What else was she supposed to think? All he had to do was tell her and they could put this behind them, or end it right now. But he wouldn't do that. For some reason, he just wouldn't spill.

"Clary?" A voice called from behind.

She spun toward it, spying Simon standing in the circle of illumination from the streetlight.

He eyed her and then Jace, his stare staying on Jace. "Are you all right?" Finally, his gaze drifted back to Clary. "You're going to be late."

Clary glanced down at her watch, seeing she now had only fifteen minutes to get to work. She shook her head and closed her eyes before lifting her head and meeting Jace's. "I have to go."

Jace laughed a dry, humorless laugh and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Of course you do."

She glared at him. "Yes, well, some of us have to actually work for a living."

"Oh, so not only am I a cheating bastard, but having money is a bad thing too? I didn't hear you complaining when your body was wrapped up in my expensive sheets."

"You don't have to be such an asshole."

"Why not?" he said, indignantly. "Isn't that what you expect of me anyway, Clary?"

She let out a frustrated growl and spun on her heel, moving quickly toward Simon. "Kiss my ass, Jace."

"Already did that, Sweetness. Along with every other inch of you. Or have you forgotten that already too?"

Clary huffed and looped her arm through Simon's, pulling him along after her, not sparing Jace a second glance. She couldn't look at him, couldn't handle seeing the hurt and anger in his face. Why wouldn't he just tell her who the girl was? He wanted her to trust him, to trust the things he'd said, but he couldn't even give her an explanation about this one thing.

Traffic buzzed around them as Clary rushed across the street and melted into the crowd on the sidewalk. Her hands shook and her heart raced. What had she done? Why did she say those things? Shaking her head against those thoughts, she reminded herself that he was the one who wouldn't come clean. He was the one in the wrong, not her. Clary yanked on Simon's arm once again, her anger making her impatient with his slow pace.

Simon turned his face toward her, tripping over his own feet as he struggled to keep up. "Clary?"

"What?" she snapped, her mind spinning with thoughts about everything that had just transpired. _Did that just happen?_

"Did he really kiss your ass?"

Clary whipped her head in his direction and narrowed her eyes. "Not the time, Simon. Seriously not the time."

.o.O.o.

The girl watched the showdown from an adjacent building, holding back the laughter bubbling to the surface. God, this was easier than she'd thought. When the idea to shake up this little love fest going on between the oblivious girl and her little boy toy, she'd thought it would be a near impossibility. The amount of mushy love radiating between the two of them made her want to puke, and doubt her ability to crack through their bubble. But she'd done it. That little emotion called jealousy was a powerful thing, and she'd used it to her advantage.

"What are you chuckling about?" her partner's voice floated up from behind her.

She turned and grinned at the sight of him, hair all disheveled, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Yeah, if she weren't already attached, she'd tap that. "My plan seems to be working." She nodded toward the arguing couple.

He craned his neck, his face half in and half out of the shadows. "Hmm. For now."

"What do you mean?"

He blew out a puff of smoke and then dropped the butt on the ground, grinding it into the pavement with the toe of his boot. "Those two . . ." He paused. "They're not going to be easy to keep apart for long. They've got this . . . explosive chemistry." He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I'm not trying to break them up, genius. I just need a little wiggle room here. A little doubt. And we've planted the seed."

"But why?" he asked, pushing a chunk of hair off his forehead. "How's that going to help?"

The girl smiled and turned back toward the couple just as the other girl stormed off, leaving the boy staring after her, and dragging her friend by the arm. "You'll see."

.o.O.o.

Jace pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to push back the headache starting to form. In the hours since Clary had left, he'd been pouring over the information stored on the thumb drive Maryse had made for him. He tried to concentrate on the images and data in front of him, but couldn't keep his mind from reliving the argument between him and Clary. What the hell had that been all about? Why wouldn't she let him explain? He'd started to when she'd bolted away from him. It almost felt like she wanted to be mad at him, and that in turn made him angry with her. How could she even think—

Jace lifted his hands and rubbed them over his face. Now was not the time to dwell on this. There was nothing he could do until she calmed down enough for him to get a word in anyway. He wasn't going to be one of those guys to go running after his girl, begging her to listen to his sad, sad excuse. If Clary wanted to be pissed, she could be pissed. It wasn't that Jace couldn't understand her being upset. If it had been him in her place, seeing a photo of her like that, he might have been slightly annoyed too. Oh, who was he kidding, he would have seen red. Simple as that. Whoever the bastard was with his hands on his girl would have had them ripped off.

But, it really wasn't that Clary had gotten mad and lashed out that made him angry in return, it was the insinuation. The fact that she automatically assumed the picture meant he just went out to meet a woman—which he did, but it wasn't like _that_! Couldn't she see how wrecked he was over her? Were the last twenty four hours not proof enough of how tightly she had him wrapped around her little finger? He'd told her he loved her. _Loved_ her! And he'd tried to show her. God, he'd tried so hard. He would do anything, _anything_, to prove it to her.

How could she not know that? How could she look at him with that hurt and mistrust in her eyes, in her voice, in her words? Of all things she could choose to question him on, of all the things she _should_ be skeptical about—she picked the one thing she could have one hundred percent confidence in—he was hers. Mind, body, soul. Hers. But she doubted . . . and yeah, he'd acted like a douche in return. He couldn't help it. It was a defense mechanism he'd developed a long time ago.

Jace thrust his hand into his hair and tightened his hold, forcing himself to focus on the screen again. As hard as it was, he needed to forget about his relationship problems and focus on what lay right in front of him. Regardless of what happened between them, her safety was still his number one priority. It was up to him to protect her, and he would do it.

Turning his attention back to the screen, he released a slow breath and let his eyes rake over the image in front of him. In the grainy black and white photograph was a man—approximately Jace's height, build, and age. Jace couldn't make out any features because of the low quality of the photo and the slant at which it was taken. He assumed it had come from a surveillance camera from one of the shops on the opposite side of the street, and was angled down, catching the perp from the top. The man wore a plain black hooded sweatshirt and dark pants—probably jeans—and boots. The bill of a baseball cap stuck out from under the hood. All the pieces fit the description Clary had given after her attack at the club.

"Is this the info Mom retrieved for you?" Alec asked from over Jace's shoulder.

Jace didn't turn, his eyes intent on the image, trying to discern anything distinguishing. "Yeah, not that it's helping much." He sat back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head, his shirt coming up over his stomach and exposing his flesh to the chilly air.

Alec sat next to him, a mug of some steaming liquid in his hand. "Nothing?"

Jace dropped his hands into his lap. "Not yet. I've been through half of it already and all I've gotten are blurry photos taken from a distance. It's just worthless garbage."

"There's got to be something."

He leaned forward and clicked the mouse to the next photo. "There's not. All of these pictures are the same. The guy wears the same hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap, and unfortunately both are without any insignia. He also manages to keep his face hidden from every camera. I have no idea how he does it since there are at least four angles here."

Alec frowned and tapped his chin. "Well, we did find the Agency issued pick. If he's an Agent, he would be aware of how to keep himself hidden, if that was his goal."

Jace shook his head. "I'm not so sure he's an Agent."

Alec looked at him with confusion.

Jace sighed and picked up his kit, which he had placed there to make comparisons. Opening it, he pulled out his pick and held it under the light. "You see these markings next to the Agency seal?" He pointed to the tiny twist and swirl.

"Yeah." Alec paused. "I never noticed those before."

"These are branch specific brandings. Every time a batch of tools are shipped to a facility, they are branded with a mark, identifying them with the specific issuing branch's logo." He reached into the manila envelope sitting to his right and pulled out the pick they'd found on the fire escape, placing it beside his. "Notice anything?"

Alec lowered his face until his nose nearly touched the two picks. His brows furrowed. "There's nothing there."

"Exactly," Jace said, picking up the tool and rolling it between his fingers. "Which means this pick was never issued to anyone by any branch."

"How does that help us?"

"I don't know yet. It could mean a bunch of different things."

"Such as . . ."

"Such as, this guy could be an Agent—or he could not. He could be working for someone within the Agency, or he could have been the guy who drove the new batch of picks to the branch. At this point, we can't be sure of anything."

Alec sat back in his seat, hitting the chair with a thud. "So basically we know nothing."

"No, not 'nothing.'"

Alec raised a brow. "What do you mean? You figured something out from this?" He gestured to the pick.

"No, not this specifically." Jace rubbed his hand over his jaw. "More like, from the big picture."

"You've lost me."

Jace sighed. "What do we know so far? We were assigned to Clary to find a way inside Morgenstern's inner circle. As soon as we started poking around, she began receiving threats. Then she was attacked at the club and her apartment was broken into—twice. The attackers didn't take paperwork, money, or valuables like we would have assumed seeing who her father is. The only thing they took was her mother's locket. Both in the club and here, that locket seemed to be the only thing they were after."

"But it was worthless," Alec said, confused. "Just a plain, gold locket. What could they want it for?"

Jace hesitated, knowing he would have to spill what the locket contained if he hoped to have Alec's help. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and opened it, retrieving the slip of paper he'd kept in there after Clary had given it to him. He smoothed it out onto the table, watching as Alec's expression became more perplexed.

"What am I looking at?"

"Clary found this in the locket."

Alec's head shot up. "What?"

Jace nodded. "At first I thought this was what they were after, that maybe it was some kind of code they needed for something."

"And now?"

"Now I'm not so sure." He pointed to the center section. "We've already determined that these letters and numbers are an address—to a friend of her mother's. The rest we still don't know, but are hoping to find out this weekend when we visit this friend."

"So . . . maybe it's the friend they're after."

"Maybe . . ." Jace hesitated. "But I don't really think so."

"Why not?"

"I don't know." He turned to Alec. "Call it a gut instinct or whatever, but it seems to me, if it were Luke they were after, they would have already gotten to him. His friendship with Clary's mom wasn't a secret."

"What are you thinking then?"

Jace furrowed his brows and looked back at the slip of paper, his mind turning over and over with scenarios, but only one standing taller than the others. "I think that whatever these people are after isn't this slip of paper. In fact, I don't think they know it even exists. They aren't urgent enough. If this was what they wanted, if it was something important to them, once they realized it wasn't in the locket, they would have stepped up their efforts to get it. But they haven't. I think this paper was left by Jocelyn Morgenstern for Clary to find."

"But . . . why?" Alec asked.

"No idea. But I have a feeling Luke knows exactly what this is all about."

"And you're going there this weekend?"

Jace grimaced and rose from his chair, crossing the room to stand near the window and peer down at the street. "That was the plan."

Alec joined him. "What do you mean 'was?'"

"Clary's slightly pissed at me right now."

"Why? What did you do?"

Jace turned to him and glared. "What makes you think I did anything?"

Alec stared at him. "Because you're you."

Jace rolled his eyes and looked back out the window. "Someone sent her a photo that may have made it look like I was screwing around."

"Were you?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Alec." Jace pushed away from the window and threw himself onto the couch. Alec joined him.

"Well, what do you expect? It's not like you don't already have a reputation."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, but this is different. And she knows it."

"Does she?"

He looked up and met Alec's eyes. They were not judging or placing blame, they were actually curious—worried even. Jace swallowed and averted his stare, his gaze falling to his shoes. The same hurt and confusion laced with anger fell over him. "She should."

Alec chuckled and Jace's head whipped up to look at him.

"Sorry, man, but . . . you've been a complete douchebag when it came to women for as long as I've known you. How could she—" Jace stood and moved back over to the computer. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Out. I'm not really in the mood to listen to your lecture—" He reached over and grabbed the mouse, attempting to turn off the computer and accidentally clicking to the next photo. He froze in place.

Alec moved up behind him. "I'm not trying to say you're still—what's wrong?"

Jace stared at the photo for a moment before pointing to an area just off to the corner. "Do you see that?"

Alec moved in, his face beside Jace's. "Not really . . ."

Jace clicked to the next slide, and then the next. "There." He pointed again. "Do you see that?"

"Yeah." Alec nodded, squinting at the screen. "It's another person . . . looks like a girl."

"And do you see what's on her shirt?"

"It's . . . it looks like a crest?"

"Exactly," Jace said.

Alec looked confused and then realization dawned on his face. "And you've seen this before."

"I have." Jace nodded and lowered his gaze to the screen, his eyes focused on the one part of the blurry photo that had become very clear. His mouth pulled up into a grin. "Gotcha," he whispered.

.o.O.o.

Clary had just about had it with her ass being grabbed by drunken men with goatees and beer spilled down the front of their shirts. She didn't know what it was, but they'd been man-handling her all night. Was she wearing a sign on her back that said, _Please grab my ass_? Because the quantity of hands that had been on her butt that night were more than she'd ever experienced in her life. The next one who did it was going to be wacked upside the head with her tray, and she didn't even care if Magnus fired her over it.

She moved up to the bar, set her tray down and knocked over two mugs of beer, spilling them all over the counter. Kaelie glared at her from the other side of the counter and grabbed a few towels to mop up the mess. Clary lowered her face to her hand. This night officially sucked. Not only had she had a massive fight with Jace, she'd also been stiffed on several tips, Aline was being her normal bitchy self, and she had cramps. Lovely. Could this night get any worse?

Music blared from the DJ booth on stage. Mixed with the cackling laughter and drunk hooting, the cacophony of noise caused Clary to squeeze her eyes shut. Her head hurt, but not the kind of pain a simple Tylenol could cure. It was so full and anxious and upset. Nothing she did made her forget the scene in the alley. She wanted to forget, at least for the time being. Nothing could erase the things they'd said—the things she'd seen. Clary didn't want to see Jace smiling at or touching another girl. Not then, not ever. But every time she blinked she saw that image burned into the back of her eyelids.

She stood there for a few minutes, her eyes closed and her head still in her hands. It was almost time for her shift to end, but for once, she wasn't anxious to get home. She knew she needed to talk to Jace, but she didn't know what to say, and was honestly afraid to hear what he said. A sharp pain radiated from her left butt cheek and Clary jumped.

"Damn it!" She whirled around, bringing her tray up to bash the drunken fool over the head, when someone else beat her to it.

A blur with a head of dark hair slammed into the pincher and pressed him up against the bar. It took Clary a moment to recognize her rescuer.

When he'd let the guy go, Clary narrowed her eyes and set her tray on the counter. "I could have handled that myself, you know."

Sebastian turned and grinned sheepishly. "Aww, come on now, Clary. It isn't every day I get to be the hero. Just humor me and get down on your knees and kiss my feet."

She couldn't help but laugh. "In your dreams, Seb."

He shrugged, flashed her another smile, and leaned up against the bar. "It was worth a shot."

"When are you going to learn that girls nowadays don't need or want to be saved?"

"Speak for yourself! I bet there are a lot that still do." He glanced out at the crowd and sighed. "And someday I shall find my maiden in distress."

Clary shook her head. "You're an idiot."

Sebastian chuckled. "So where have you been this week? I haven't seen you around."

Clary motioned to Kaelie and gave her a drink order before turning back to Sebastian. "Oh, I was off most of the week," she cleared her throat and glanced away, "personal reasons."

"Ahh," he said, turning slowly toward her. "I called J.C. several times this week. Left voicemails but he hasn't called back. Is everything okay with him?"

She swallowed and met Sebastian's eyes. "I think so. I saw him a couple of days ago and he—" Clary recalled the nervous look in Jonathan's eyes the last time she'd seen him. "Well, he was okay then. Just swamped at work, I guess."

Sebastian nodded. "That was the exact reason I refused to work for my dad." He shook his head. "Not that I had any interest in being a lawyer anyway, but working for my dad?" He shuddered. "No thanks."

"No kidding. I don't know how Jonathan does it." She looked up at him and smiled. "Looks like we dodged that bullet, no?"

He raised his brows and shook his head once. "Who'd have thought that perfect little Clary and I would be the outcasts of the family?"

She snorted. It was true though. For generations, the Verlac and Morgenstern families had worked together at the firm, representing every rich and famous person in the city. It was not a happy time when both of them decided they wanted nothing to do with that particular legacy. At least Clary's father had Jonathan. Sebastian was an only child, so his refusal was a huge let down to his family.

"So," Sebastian looked down and picked at the hem of his shirt. "Are you going to that immensely boring ball?"

Clary rolled her eyes and picked up her tray, now filled with her drink order. "Yes. I don't really want to, but it was important to my mom when she was alive, so I feel like I should."

He nodded and followed her to deliver her drinks. "Me too."

"Really?" She peered up at him. "I thought you hated those things."

"I do." Sebastian side-stepped a few drunk patrons, steadying one girl who nearly fell. "But Mom pretty much begged this time around, so . . ." He shrugged.

"Aww," Clary stopped at the table and passed out the drinks, turning to Sebastian when she was finished. "A little Mama's Boy now, huh?"

"Shut up." He shoved her shoulder. "She and my dad haven't been getting along well lately and she didn't want to have to be there alone with him while he schmoozed the masses."

Clary stopped at the bar once more. "That's very sweet of you."

"What can I say? I'm a naturally sweet guy." He flashed her another smile.

She shook her head and laughed. Clary caught sight of Simon and Isabelle near the front doors. She raised her hand in the air and motioned them over. Simon's brows raised and he and Isabelle started through the crowd.

"So," Sebastian said, drawing Clary's attention away from her approaching roommates. "Maybe we should go together. You know, so we'd have someone else to make fun of the stodgy old folk with." He glanced up at her, a bit of awkward vulnerability shone in his eyes.

Clary's stomach clenched. "Oh, uh, Sebastian. I—I can't, I'm . . . well, I'm seeing someone. So . . ."

"What?" He frowned for a brief moment before he caught himself and forced a smile. "You are? How do I not know this?"

She shrugged. "We just recently made it . . . public." Inside, she cringed. She still had no idea what to think about that photo, or about why Jace didn't just come out and tell her what was going on. The uncertainty made talking about their relationship—if they still had one after this—feel weird.

"Is it serious?"

Clary nodded slowly. "Pretty serious, yeah."

"I can't believe this." Sebastian shook his head. "Little Clary Morgenstern with a boyfriend. I never thought I'd see the day."

"Hey!" She smacked him in the arm. "I've dated before."

"Yeah, but . . . nothing serious."

She shrugged again. He was right. She'd never experienced anything like this before.

"So, who is the lucky guy—wait! Don't tell me. It's Lewis, right?"

"Simon?" Clary laughed. "No, definitely not. We're just friends."

"Then who?"

Before Clary could answer, Simon and Isabelle broke through the crowd and came up to the bar. Simon nearly plowed Clary over as he tripped on a girl's purse and toppled into the counter. She reached out and grabbed his shoulders, helping to steady him before he face-planted it. Isabelle raised a brow and rolled her eyes at him, but Clary couldn't help snorting.

"You all right there, Si?"

"Haven't people ever heard of putting their bags on the table or chair? I could have been seriously injured." Simon ran a hand down his shirt, ignoring Clary and trying to act as if nearly killing himself in front of a horde of people hadn't embarrassed him.

"You almost done?" Isabelle asked, her voice tight and forced.

Clary eyed her, taking in her stiff shoulders and less than friendly demeanor. "I take it you talked to Jace."

"Jace?" Sebastian asked, his forehead creased as he studied Clary.

She ignored his question, much more interested in what Isabelle had to say.

"I did," Isabelle answered. "You did a number on him."

A surge of anger shot through her. _She_ did a number on _him_?

"Wait! Wait!" Sebastian waved his hand in the air. "Herondale? You're dating Herondale?" He looked away. "Well, that explains a lot."

Clary was just about to ask him what he meant when Simon gasped beside her and stood up straight. He turned to her, the biggest, goofiest smile on his face. Clary frowned for a moment until she heard the music playing in the background. She stepped back. "Oh no. Not here, Simon."

He grinned larger. "Come on! You know you wanna!"

Clary shook her head and shrank back against the bar. "I don't want to play your game here."

"What game?" Sebastian asked.

"A video game," Isabelle answered. "You know, one of those ones you have to dance along with? Simon's obsessed with it."

"I'm not obsessed! It's fun." He looked at Clary once more. "Come on."

She shook her head again, and he started to dance, stomping his foot and snapping his fingers. To her horror, he even started singing the song.

_"This here's a tale for all the fellas, try to do what those ladies tell us. Get shot down 'cause you're overzealous. Play hard to get and females get jealous."_

"Oh, God." Clary covered her eyes as Simon continued, now snapping and doing "The King". She peeked through her fingers just as he started "The Snake" and burst out laughing.

He smiled and tweaked his finger at her. "You know you want to." Clary waved him away, but he leaned into her and whispered, "It'll make you feel better."

She looked up at him, meeting his dark eyes and felt her chest squeeze. Simon held out his hand and she placed hers inside, letting him lead her out onto the dance floor. To her surprise, Isabelle joined them, standing next to Clary as Simon stood in front.

He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. "Follow me, ladies."

Clary and Isabelle couldn't help snickering when he started back in.

"_Next day's function, high class luncheon, food is served, and you're stone cold munchin'."_ Simon sang as he did "The Chicken" and "The Shoulder Roll."

Clary and Isabelle tried to follow along, but both girls were laughing so hard they could barely see what Simon was doing. Clary's stomach hurt and she grabbed it, doubling over while trying to catch her breath. Simon continued dancing and singing, not paying her a bit of attention. Finally, she regained enough control to partially do each move while Simon called out, "Snake! Bust a Move! Cabbage Patch!" When he yelled out, "Freestyle!" Clary closed her eyes and let her body move, hands above her head, hips swaying from side-to-side.

She felt the crowd swarm around her, heat and the smell of sweat saturating the air. For a moment, she felt better. The frustration over her and Jace's argument melted away, leaving only her, her best friend, and about a hundred strangers doing old school dance moves to a song from the late eighties. It felt good. She missed being so free and uninhibited. But even so, it didn't take long for her unease to settle back in. What was she going to do about Jace? What was she going to say when she saw him? Did she even want to see him?

Opening her eyes, Clary felt the burden of her worries settle back on her shoulders. The reprieve was nice while it lasted, even briefly. She left Simon and Isabelle out on the dance floor and moved back to the bar, gathering her tray and cashing out the last of her tickets. Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. He must have left, she thought to herself. Just as she'd finished the last bill, she felt someone move up beside her. Clary looked to her side and watched Isabelle slide into the stool. She didn't look at Clary.

"She's my mom's assistant," Isabelle said quietly after a few moments, still staring out at the crowd.

Clary stopped what she was doing, her hand frozen with several receipts clutched inside. "What? Who?"

Isabelle turned slowly toward Clary, her eyes dark and guarded. "The girl in the picture. The one you accused Jace of cheating with. She works for my mom. Mom was called into a last minute meeting, so Sydney came in her place. Jace hugged her because she'd been gone on maternity leave for the past six months and he hadn't seen her in awhile. We've all known each other for years."

"I—I never said—" Clary sputtered.

"You didn't have to say the words. He knew what you thought." She paused. "We all know what you thought."

Clary swallowed and looked down at her hands. Shame twisted in her stomach. The things Jace had said in the alley came flooding back to her. She'd been so upset at the time that she hadn't listened to a word. Not once had he sounded guilty or like he was trying to backpedal anything. He'd been trying to tell her, but she hadn't listened. She hadn't wanted to. At that time, her brain had convinced her of the one thing her heart told her couldn't be true. Everything they'd been through together, everything they'd said and done, proved to her that he wouldn't—couldn't have done what she'd accused him of.

"I'm so stupid," Clary whispered.

"Yeah, you are," Isabelle said.

Clary raised her gaze to Isabelle's, feeling the protectiveness flowing out of her.

"If you're looking for me to sugar-coat it for you, I'm not going to do that," Izzy said.

Clary shook her head, her heart pounding hard against her ribs and her stomach churning. What had she done? "I'm not."

Isabelle sighed. "Look, I know how Jace can be. I know he can be the world's biggest dick, believe me. But—he's like a brother to me, and I don't like seeing him hurt." She caught Clary's eyes. "Make it right, or I swear to God I will bitch-slap you."

Simon stepped up beside Clary and tucked his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. "What's going on?" His body stiffened, and Clary could feel the defensiveness in his posture.

She shook her head. "Nothing, I—I just need to get home."

But Simon didn't loosen his grip. In fact, if Clary weren't mistaken, he actually held her tighter. "Wait a minute." His gaze slid from Clary to Isabelle, and his eyes hardened. "I don't know what you said to her, but I'm assuming you're sticking up for your cousin."

"Simon—"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. Isabelle stared up at him. "I don't care what he did or didn't do, but don't threaten her. She has a right to feel whatever she felt."

"And so does he." Isabelle stood from her chair, her eyes glued to Simon's.

"It's not like it takes a big leap of imagination anyway. I mean, he did have a lot of gir—"

Clary didn't want to hear anymore. With a shake of her head, she broke away from them and started toward the back. She didn't want to listen them argue either her or Jace's side. In her mind, it didn't matter who was right or wrong. All that mattered was fixing it. If that was possible.

Simon called out to her, but she didn't turn back. Now that she knew for certain what she should have known all along, she couldn't spend another moment thinking. She needed to act. God, what Jace must be thinking. Clary knew the things he'd said to her couldn't have been easy for him. Just last night he'd confessed so much about himself, about the ways his parents had doubted and mistreated him. And she'd done the same. Even though, in her mind, he was damn near perfect, she'd gone and made him feel less. She'd allowed a sliver of doubt to take over everything she knew. Everything.

After weaving her way through the crowd, Clary finally found herself in Magnus's office. With trembling hands, she punched her timecard, grabbed her jacket and bag, and started back toward the front of the club. Simon and Isabelle waited in the same spot she'd left them in. Clary moved past them without stopping. They hurried after her, Simon trying to talk to her as they went. But Clary didn't respond. He mind was full of things she needed to say, but didn't know if she could. Would he be able to forgive her for jumping to conclusions? He would understand, right? Right?

The ride back to the apartment took forever. Clary stared out the windows, watching the blur of the tunnels pass by. Simon and Izzy conversed softly beside her, but she didn't hear a word. The things she'd said earlier haunted her. _I never gave you a reason to. _

Clary closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cool glass._ I never gave you a reason to._ As if he'd given her one. As if everything he'd done in his past had been to her personally. The words echoed and echoed through her mind, filling her heart with ice. How could she have said that? How could she have let herself say all of those things? Anger was no excuse. Sure, she had a right to wonder, to feel doubt. But she had no right to not give him a chance. To walk away and say the things she'd said.

After all the time and energy he'd spent trying to show her. The way he'd held her, kissed her, breathed the words onto her skin. And at the first sign of anything, she'd thrown the one thing in his face she knew would hurt him most.

The train slowed and Clary heard her stop called over the speaker. She opened her eyes to find Simon staring at her.

"What?" she asked, rising from her seat and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "You've just been really quiet all the way home. I just wanted to make sure you're all right."

Isabelle eyed them both.

"I'm fine." Clary sighed. "I'm just . . . thinking."

The doors slid open and she made her way toward them, stepping out into the crowded subway tunnel. People shoved past her, trying to be the first into the car to enable a good seat. She shoved back. A couple of people gave her the evil eye, but she didn't care. The only thing she cared about was getting home. Getting to him.

Simon and Isabelle followed her out of the tunnel and up onto the street. Traffic buzzed by, making Clary feel more anxious to get there. Being a city kid, she'd always had the movement and busyness of the city as the backdrop to her life. And she had never minded it before. But tonight, the cars, the people, the street performers, were all just obstacles between her and Jace.

She hurried through the crowds, ignoring the calls for spare change and aggravated grunts. Her building came into view a few short minutes later and her heart started to pound. He was there; his bike was parked in the alley beside the complex and lights burned in the window of the apartment just above hers. She sucked in a breath and crossed the street, aware of but paying no attention to her friends on her heels.

Her hand wrapped around the cold metal door handle, and she pulled. The familiar musty scent of the foyer washed over her, sending a jolt of nervousness right into the pit of her stomach. Determined to do this, she started toward the stairs, having no idea what she would say, but figuring she would just say whatever she felt. If she over thought it, she'd say something stupid and meaningless. This had to come from someplace private, vulnerable.

Clary clutched the banister and climbed the stairs, one flight, two, three. Footsteps echoed behind her, Simon and Isabelle following her all the way. She rolled her eyes at how far they were going to "escort" her home. It wasn't like she couldn't get herself to Jace's apartment without being abducted or something, but still, she said nothing and let them do their "job." It made them feel better, so why not?

Jace's hallway stretched out before her, seeming so endless as she stared at his door. Closing her eyes briefly, she swallowed and started toward it. With each step, her anxiety rose. She shouldn't feel this nervous. It was just a silly fight. A simple misunderstanding. If that were so, why did she feel so scared? It was ridiculous.

Before she knew it, Clary stood before his door, only it standing between her and him. She felt Simon and Izzy at her back. Taking in another breath, she raised her fist and knocked three times. After a moment, she heard the chain slide. Her heart nearly stopped. The lock clicked. Her heart started again. With a creek, the door opened, and blue eyes stared down on her. They flashed and then widened. Clary said nothing, just stared up at Alec, asking him with her gaze for entrance. He swallowed and took a step back, widening the door enough for her to enter.

She glanced past him, her breath leaving her in a rush when she spotted Jace. He stood across the room, bare-chested and sweaty, with his shirt slung over his shoulder and wet curls falling over his forehead. He'd been working out. Jace's eyes fell on hers and she saw it all, everything she'd been afraid of, yet everything she'd expected. Hurt, anger, uncertainty.

"We'll just . . . leave you two . . ." Alec said.

Simon protested, but his words muted to nothing as Clary held Jace's gaze. She wanted to go to him, to hold him, kiss him, tell him how stupid she was, but the look in his eyes told her to be cautious. The door clicked behind her and they were alone. The room filled with oppressive tension, pressing in on her at every point.

She took one tentative step forward, then another, and another. One at a time until she'd crossed the room and stood just before him. Her hands trembled slightly and she clasped them in front of her to hold them still. God, she ached to touch him, to run her fingers over his jaw, to brush her lips against his. If she could do that, maybe she could force out the words stuck in her throat.

Jace didn't move, didn't speak, didn't reach out. Clary's chest squeezed and her eyes stung. Drawing in a breath, she closed them and tried to speak.

"Jace—"

His name was all she got out before she felt his hand wrap around the back of her neck and pull her toward him. She let out a gasp as his mouth crashed down on hers, his lips devouring hers in a way that was both passionate and desperate.

"Jace," she tried again, wanting to make it right, wanting him to know that she knew.

"Clary, please," he said, his hands clutching her face, fingers digging into her flesh. "I don't want to fight anymore."

Clary's breath released in a gush and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. She didn't care that he was sweaty or that his kiss tasted slightly of salt. He was kissing her, holding her, wanting her.

"God, I'm sorry," she said against his mouth. "So sorry."

His fingers threaded into her hair, holding her face to his. "Me too."

"No," Clary shook her head and pulled back. "You don't need to be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong. It—it was me." She lowered her hands to his neck, her thumbs brushing the edge of his jaw. His eyes were still pained, still cautious. "I should've just let you talk. I—I don't know what happened. I got the messages and, yeah, it shocked me but I never—I never meant to . . ."

Jace let out a breath and rested his forehead against hers. "I get it, Clary. No one would blame you for questioning it. It's my own fault for being such an ass for so long, but I'd hoped," he closed his eyes, "I'd hoped I had proven myself enough. That I'd done enough, but I guess . . . I guess I haven't."

Clary shook her head, but he stopped her by gripping her face tightly between his hands, his eyes intent on hers.

"But I promise you, I will. I _will_, baby." His voice was pleading, begging for her to believe him. As if he needed to. As if he hadn't owned her from the moment she'd walked through that door. The moment their eyes met. As if he wouldn't own her for the rest of her life. "Because I'm positive I'll disappoint you. I'll hurt you and I'll make you mad, but I never want you to doubt this." Jace lowered his hand and gestured between the two of them. "Because this . . . this is the one thing I can give you that I'm sure of. That I know I can never screw up. That my past or my future can never take away." He lowered his lips to hers, kissing her gently, his breath flowing warm and delicious over her mouth. "I want you, only you. No one else. There's no one else. There could never _be_ anyone else."

Clary's throat tightened and tears stung her eyes, spilling over. "Stop," she said, reaching up to quickly wipe the moisture from her cheeks. "You're making me act like a girl."

Jace brushed his fingers over her face, clearing the last remnants of wetness from her skin. "You are a girl." He bent, pressing his lips to one cheek, "My girl," then the other. "My beautiful girl." Slowly, he moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, _"La mia bella ragazza." _

Clary closed her eyes and ran her lips over his cheek until she reached his mouth. Her hands came up to cup his face. _"Te amo, Jace,"_ she said, her fingers trailing over his skin and her lips brushing his._ "Te amo."_

His mouth curled up into a grin under hers. He knew the significance of those words. How they meant so much more than a simple, "I love you" in English. "_Ti amo così tanto, bella ragazza." _He pulled back and met her gaze, his eyes moving between hers. So intense. So gold. So beautiful. _"Sempre."_

It didn't seem strange to Clary that they were confessing themselves to each other in languages other than their own, and still different from one another. It didn't matter because somehow, it meant more, and it felt right. This was them. The way they were together that was unlike how they were with anyone else.

_"Siempre," _she breathed.

Jace leaned in, coming closer and closer, until he was kissing her. Kissing her soft and slow, and then hard and fast. Kissing her until she had no more air to breathe, and had no choice but to share his.

* * *

_No relationship is perfect and all have moments like this. Jace and Clary are no different. Not sure why so many thought this was "the moment" when everything was going to blow up. No, we're not there quite yet. Are you all happier now? You had to know I couldn't keep them mad for long. And some of you doubted me. ;) You know you love it._

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_

_Lots of love to LLWB. I so enjoyed all of the angry venting and squealing from your comments on this chapter. ;) You be wack, yo! ;) Love you! *muah*_

_A special thanks to Niniadepapa for helping me decide which version of "I love you" I needed. (I still miss you so much!)_

_And of course to Smiley, thank you for speaking to me in Italian and letting me steal your pretty words. Te adoro, mi niño dulce. *besos* _

_**Translations:**_

"_la mia bella ragazza."_ (Italian) – my beautiful girl

"_Te amo."_ (Spanish) – I love you. (There is great significance to Clary using this way to tell Jace she loves him. In Spanish, when one is saying "I love you" to a friend or even boyfriend/girlfriend, they will often use "Te quiero." Using "Te amo" signifies a deep, deep love for someone. Clary and Jace both know this, being familiar with the language. ;))

"_Ti amo così tanto, bella ragazza." _(Italian) – I love you so much, beautiful girl.

"_Sempre." _(Italian)– always

"_Siempre." _(Spanish)- always


	22. Gotcha

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**Chapter 21: Gotcha**

_**Heat index warning for the first scene. Those of you on Twitter have heard me refer to this scene as the Dirty Epic Counter Scene. It's pretty steamy, so those of you with sensitivities . . . you know the drill.**_

_Also, because of my massive struggle with lost writing mojo, only the first half of this chapter was beta'd. I'm sending the rest to LLWB now, and will fix all mistakes later. No need to point them out—we'll get to them. I just know how much you all wanted this chapter on V-day. :) Enjoy!_

_Chapter Songs:_

_**War in Your Bedroom – A Change of Pace_

_**Somewhere a Clock is Ticking – Snow Patrol_

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Sunlight filtered through the curtains, stretching across the floor and almost touching the edge of the bed. Clary stared over at it, watching the dust motes twirl and float in the beam. Her eyes stung from lack of sleep, and her body felt sore and sluggish. Especially her ass from all the douchebags pinching it the night before. She still didn't understand what that had been about. She'd worked at the club for weeks, and not once had she experienced anything like that.

Rolling over, her eyes landed on Jace. He'd pretty much fallen asleep the moment they lay down the night before. Clary had to admit, their fight had been exhausting. But all was well in the end. They'd talked, they'd kissed, they'd made up. So why couldn't she sleep?

She flipped onto her back. It was the messages she'd received on her phone. They'd haunted her all night. She and Jace had concluded that they'd been sent for one reason—to cause a rift between them. But why? What did their relationship have to do with anything? Why couldn't these people just leave her alone and let her be happy?

Clary glanced at the clock glowing red on the nightstand. Eight fifteen. Great. She had class at eleven. Sliding slowly across the sheets, she inched to the side of bed. She sat for a moment and stretched, looking down at her discarded jeans on the floor. It would have been smarter to go home, get into her pajamas, and sleep in her own bed last night, but after everything, she hadn't wanted to leave. And it didn't seem like Jace had wanted her to go either. Instead, she'd borrowed his shirt and crawled into bed beside him. She'd let him hold her until his even breaths warmed her hair. It was nice, safe, home.

With a sigh, she stood and contemplated throwing on her pants, but when she looked down and saw that Jace's shirt almost touched her knees, she decided to forego them. After all, she'd worn dresses shorter than this before. Making her way quietly out of the room, she closed the door with a soft click, and ambled into the bathroom first to brush her teeth, and then into the kitchen, the tile cold against her feet. The layout of Jace's apartment was nearly identical to hers, except she had one extra bedroom and a little more living space.

As many times as she'd been there, and even spent the night, she had no idea where he and Alec kept the breakfast food. She started on one side, opening cupboard after cupboard, looking for cereal. Finally, in the last one she looked, she found it—and of course, it was on the top shelf.

She rolled her eyes. Being short sucked. It seemed like everyone around Clary was tall. Jace, Simon, Izzy, Alec, Jonathan, her father—even her mother had been. Normally, she didn't think much of it, but her height disadvantage became very evident when she had to do everyday things like—eat—in tall people's houses.

Clary cursed under her breath, stretching to reach the cereal on the top shelf. She stood on tip-toes, the very ends of her fingers touching the corner of the box. She reached as far as she could, holding her breath to see if that would help. It didn't.

Just as she was about to admit defeat and grab one of the dining room chairs, something very warm and very familiar pressed against her back. She gasped in surprise, her heart jumping in her chest. An inked arm reached over her head, and a warm body pushed her into the edge of the counter. Jace grabbed the box of cereal and set it carefully in front of her. Leaning in, he placed his palms down on the counter top, and to either side of Clary, caging her in. He smelled of mint and . . . him, that mixture of sunshine and spice and, God, just him. She could feel his breath on her face as he brushed his lips against her cheek.

"'Morning," he said.

"'Morning." She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until the pressure in her chest released with the word.

"You know," Jace said, raising a hand to swipe her hair from her neck, goosebumps popping up where his fingers touched her skin. "I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to wear just my shirt around the apartment."

"Oh, yeah?" Clary said, closing her eyes briefly against the sensation of his words floating over her flesh.

"Mmhmm."

"Why's that?"

"Might give someone the wrong impression." His nose grazed her cheek.

She shivered. "I'm pretty sure Alec wouldn't care. I mean, I'm not exactly his type."

"I wasn't talking," he trailed a finger down her neck and hooked it into the collar of her shirt, drawing the fabric away and baring her shoulder, "about Alec." Bending down, he touched his lips to her once, twice, three times.

Clary braced herself against the counter as he pressed her harder against it. His body molded to hers, trapping her between himself and the cupboards below, the formica top digging into her abdomen. "Maybe I'm not averse to giving—" she gasped when his teeth scraped her jaw— "_other_ people the wrong impression sometimes." She felt him smile into her.

"Is that so?"

"Maybe."

"Well, then I'd say you've succeeded, Spitfire." Jace's hand slid from her shoulder down her side, stopping only when he'd reached her upper thigh, his fingers spread and possessive against her bare skin. "Because the wrong impression has certainly been given." Clary's breath caught and she lowered her hand to his, clutching it tightly as he dug his fingers into her leg. "Would you like me to give you the wrong impression too, baby?" he whispered.

"Jace," her voice was so quiet she barely heard it over the blood rushing through her veins, "I have class."

"And your point is?" His mouth touched the space just behind her ear, gently sucking at her skin. Heat shot down her neck and traveled the length of her body.

"My point is, you can't get me all worked up. I have to go soon."

He laughed softly, and Clary could feel his lips just barely touching her. "Does this work you up?" He ran his mouth around to the back of her neck, kissing along her spine and hairline. "Or how about this?" His fingers moved across her leg, inching slowly, torturously closer to her inner thigh.

She shuddered, her grip on Jace's hand and the counter tightening. "Jace . . ."

"Clary," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

Her restraint faltered and her head fell against his chest. Jace took advantage of her lapse of control and cupped her chin, tilting her face back over her shoulder. His mouth captured hers, the somewhat upside-down position making the kiss feel more erotic. With Jace's bottom lip to her top, his top to her bottom, his tongue sweeping hers, every sensation combined to make Clary nearly lose her mind. She kissed him back harder than he was kissing her, unable to control herself. She wanted to taste him, feel him, consume him. Anything less and she was sure she would implode.

The hand on her thigh slowly ascended her hip, moved under the hem of her shirt, and fanned across her stomach. So warm. God, he was warm. Her skin prickled under his. She wanted more. More touching. More kissing. More everything.

Clary reached up and slid her hand into his hair, feeling the silky strands filter through her fingers. And then she pulled. Hard. He made a sound low in his throat, not a grunt or a moan, but somewhere right in the middle. It nearly drove her insane. She pulled again, wanting to hear that sound, _needing_ to hear it once more.

Before Clary knew it, she'd been spun, her chest now against his and the counter digging into her back. Every thought of how uncomfortable it was vanished when he tucked his arm around her and raised the other to her neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking her head back, lowering his lips to her throat. Clary gasped. Not in pain—no, it felt too insanely good to hurt. Jace made another sound, and this time Clary thought maybe it was a whimper.

She wrapped her fingers around his biceps and pulled him into her, bending herself partially across the counter. The box of cereal behind her toppled over and popped open, spilling a few pieces onto the formica. Clary didn't care, and apparently neither did Jace. He pulled her back up and swept his arm over the countertop, pushing the box to the floor where it emptied half its contents onto the tile. Without hesitation, he bent and lifted her, placing her roughly on the cold surface. Clary didn't mind the coolness, in fact, it was a welcome reprieve to the heat coursing through her.

Jace reached up and grabbed her hips, sliding her forward until she sat on the very edge of the counter, her legs straddling his waist and her heart pounding, breathing shallow, fingers itching, body aching. He squeezed her thighs and his lips attacked hers, deep and hard, a frenzy of kissing and touching and grabbing and pulling. Nothing either of them did calmed the fervor between them. It seemed like forever since he'd touched her like this. With such pure want and need. She loved the slow and gentle, but there was just something about the look in his eyes, the light that sparked in him, and the way he moved over her when he let go and allowed himself to have her like this. So raw. So feral.

Clary let her hands travel up his arms, over his shoulders, and back into his hair, clutching him so tightly to her she could barely breathe. His fingers, so hot against her skin, splayed over her legs and started up again, under the bottom of her shirt, over the cotton panties stretching across her hip, tracing the curve of her waist, and ghosting along her ribs. She shivered and her breath caught as he touched and touched and touched some more. Soft and rough. Light and hard. Pain and pleasure, torture and bliss. His fingers knew her so well, knew exactly where she wanted them, and exactly how she needed them.

Despite the fact that she had little time, she clawed at his shirt, needing it off, wanting his skin on hers, just skin. Tight, hot skin. He reached back and pulled it over his head in one motion, baring his inked flesh. Her fingers greedily attacked the uncovered canvas, tracing each hard curve and defined dip.

Jace's hand fisted in the front of her shirt, and Clary could hear the fabric starting to give. His mouth was delicious on hers, his breath coming in warm bursts. His fingers dug at her hip as his others tugged at her top, finally pulling it over her head. He threw the fabric to the side and crushed her to his chest.

A loud chime came from the direction of Jace's room, startling Clary out of the spell she was under. Her phone's alarm. Damn it. She'd set it the night before to remind herself she needed to get going for her test. She broke away, panting into Jace's hair as he lowered his mouth to her throat. The last thing she wanted to do was leave, and it was beyond obvious by the way his hands gripped her, that Jace didn't want her to go either. And his mouth and fingers and body were just _so_ distracting. "Jace, I really have to . . . Oh . . . God . . . that feels good . . . But I—I have to—"

"Stay," he said, raising his face once more and letting his mouth find hers. "Stay with me."

Oh, how she wanted to stay on that cold, uncomfortable counter with his warm, hard body wrapped around hers. They hadn't "made up" this way last night, both too exhausted from the day they'd had, but God, did she want to "make up" now. "I can't. I have an exam today." Her heart raced and her body was on fire, wanting him to touch, just touch a little more. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, a shiver sliding up her spine. "Maybe . . . maybe a few more minutes," she said, curling her fingers into him. "Who needs a shower anyway?"

He squeezed her and kissed lightly along the base of her throat. "I could help with that, you know?"

Clary's head fell back as she allowed his lips, tongue, and teeth to ravish her neck. "Mmm. Why do I have a feeling you'd be hindering more than helping?"

"Oh, I would help you." His fingers trailed her sides as his mouth followed her jaw, stopping just at her ear. "_Te ayudaría todo el día si me dejaras," _he whispered. (I would help you all day if you'd let me_.)_

Clary couldn't hold back the groan crawling up her throat. "Jesus, Jace, not the damn Spanish. You know what it does to me."

"_Lo sé nena, y es exactamente por lo que lo hago__." _(I know, baby. And that's exactly why I do it.)

She reached up and grabbed his face roughly, drawing it to hers. "You're such a bastard."

He grinned and pulled her hard against him, lifting her off the counter. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, leaving no room for even air to pass between their bodies. Just as he turned to make his way out of the kitchen, a loud banging sounded at the front door. Jace froze.

"Ignore it," Clary said, and this time it was her lips on his neck and stubble covered jaw. "Please."

Jace let out a weighted breath and turned his face toward her, catching her mouth with his own. Heat and desire reached a boiling point inside her, and Clary could no longer hold back. Her body shook, ached, screamed for more, more, more. She thrust both hands back into his hair, tugging like she knew he liked, and was rewarded with the sexiest groan she'd ever heard.

Her back hit the cold surface of the wall, a small sting of pain radiating across her shoulder blades. More pounding came from the front of the apartment, but Jace paid it no attention, his breaths ragged and fast against her skin as he pressed her harder into the wall. Clary ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, feeling the tension tight in his muscles.

Jace dug his fingers into her hips, lowering one hand to fist the side of her panties. Clary's breath hitched as he tightened his grip and the strained fabric protested. He met her gaze, asking permission with his.

Her chest heaved, pulse racing as she absorbed the want in his eyes. "Rip them," she breathed.

This time it was his breath that caught. And just as his fingers tightened once more, a voice called out.

"Clary! I know you're in there, and please, God, don't make me have to use my key," Isabelle said from the other side of the door.

"Go away, Izzy!" Jace called, his forehead resting against Clary's, her panties still clutched in his fist.

"Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to leave you to do . . . whatever it is you're doing, but Clary's brother is downstairs."

"Jonathan?" Clary said to Jace. "What does he want?"

"Jesus." Jace closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the ceiling. "Your family has the worst timing."

"I know." She kissed his chin. "I'm sorry. You have no idea how much."

He looked back at her and raised a brow. "Oh, believe me, I know. I'm painfully aware of how much." He shifted uncomfortably and lowered her to the ground.

Clary's legs shook as she made her way over to where her shirt had been discarded, and picked it up, pulling it hurriedly over her head. Jace didn't bother with his. She rushed to the door and twisted the locks, throwing it open to reveal an annoyed Isabelle.

Isabelle eyed Clary. "So I see you made up?"

Clary crossed her arms over her chest, ignoring the jab but unable to control the heat flooding her cheeks. "What does he want, and why didn't he call?"

"I have no idea what he wants, and he says he did call but that you wouldn't answer." She glanced past Clary to where Jace stood. Isabelle shook her head and smirked, then looked back at Clary. "He's refusing to leave until he speaks with you. Says it's urgent."

Clary raised her hand to her forehead and squeezed her temples. "All right. I'll be right down."

Isabelle didn't move from her position as if she didn't believe Clary.

"I swear!" Clary said.

"Fine," Isabelle relented and raised her eyes to Jace once more. "And you, keep your hands to yourself."

Clary turned just in time to see him grin. "Can't promise anything."

Isabelle huffed and spun away from the door, making her way down the hall. Clary closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, willing her body to calm. Looking up, she caught sight of Jace once more, wearing only a pair of shorts. The black ink twisting up his arm stood out against his skin, and his hair was so mussed, she knew calming down would be a near impossibility. Slowly, she moved forward, stopping only when she stood directly before him. Reaching out, she ran her fingers over his abs, then laid her palm flat against his stomach. She bit her lip and looked up at him under her lashes.

The same fire that had been there all morning still burned in his eyes.

"You have five minutes." She grinned slyly. "You think you can handle that?" She traced a line from his hip bone along the top of his shorts, his muscles contracting under her touch.

He gave her his sexy smirk and stared down at her. "Baby, I can have you falling apart in two."

"Is that a promise?"

"Hell yes."

"So what are you waiting for then?"

"Just for you to tell me when."

Clary smiled, running her other hand over his side and around to his back, while stretching on tip-toes to whisper in his ear. "When."

.o.O.o.

She strolled across the courtyard, her bag slung over one shoulder and her hands tucked into the front pockets of her sweatshirt. Wind whipped through the square and she shivered, reaching back to pull her hood over her head. She walked with confidence in her step, like nothing in her world was out of place. But little did she know, everything she did, every movement she made, every person she spoke with, was being observed. She had gone from the watcher . . . to the watched.

Jace leaned up against the cool brick building, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses, and his hair tucked beneath a baseball cap. It didn't matter if she saw him because he was supposed to be there. He didn't look out of place amongst the throng of students making their way through the quad.

The girl hadn't done anything yet to point Jace in the direction of her male counterpart, but she would soon, and when she did, Jace would be ready. Things were falling into place now. If he could figure out who she was working with, maybe then he would know what they wanted and why. One thing was certain though. Their aim was not to hurt Clary. He'd been unsure at first, which was why he'd been so protective. But now that he knew who she was, and knew how easily it would have been to carry out an attack on Clary, given as they went to the same school—even shared some classes—he could ease up on that a little. They weren't out to harm her—they wanted something. Something to do with that locket.

Jace watched as the girl dug through her backpack and pulled out a wallet, fishing through for some change. She inserted the coins into the slot in the vending machine and watched her purchase drop. Once she'd collected it, she shoved it into her pocket and continued across the lawn to the English department. Jace didn't turn away until the doors closed firmly behind her.

Pushing away from the wall, he sauntered across the grass to the administrative wing. The tall, red-bricked building stretched higher into the sky than the rest of those surrounding it. Obscure statues lined the stone walkway and circled around a giant fountain situated in the middle. When Jace reached the door, he pulled it open and stepped inside, immediately removing his sunglasses and hat, and running a hand through his still slightly damp hair.

A young blonde woman sat behind a long wooden desk at the back of the entryway, a pair of small glasses perched on the end of her nose as she typed away at her computer. Jace stepped up to the desk and cleared his throat until she peered up at him over her rims.

"May I help you?" she asked.

Jace gave her his most charming smile. "I'm here to see Dean Aldertree."

The woman, her nameplate read Shelly, swallowed, her eyes flitting over him. "Is he expecting you? I don't recall him mentioning any visitors this morning." She glanced at the large calendar covering her desk space.

"I don't have an appointment."

Shelly glanced at him doubtfully. "The Dean rarely takes walk-in appointments with students, Mr . . ."

Jace grinned larger and dipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and slipping a small, white card from the fold. Holding it between his pointer and middle finger, he flicked it out to her. "Give him this, and he'll see me."

She frowned but reached out to take the card from him regardless. Her chair creaked, and she rose from her seat, disappearing through a pair of double doors just behind the desk. Jace turned and studied the artwork hanging from the walls, cheaply made reproductions of expensive pieces. Soon, he heard the door open, and the woman reappeared, her face ashen.

"Mr. Aldertree will see you now."

Jace strolled forward, making his way around the desk. Shelly held out her hand, his card clutched between her fingers. He reached out and took it, tucking it into his pocket.

Jace leaned into her slightly, and said, "Thank you, Shelly."

A small pool of color tinged her cheeks, and he grinned before disappearing through the door and closing it behind him. Dean Aldertree rose from his seat behind a dark wooden desk. He was shorter and plumper than Jace had anticipated, and his cheeks were splotched with red. He came around his desk and offered his hand to Jace.

"I hadn't expected you to be so young, Agent."

Jace took his offered hand and nodded his head. "The formalities aren't necessary. As far as anyone is concerned, I'm just a student here. You do remember the confidentiality agreement you signed with the Agency?"

"Of course." Aldertree gestured to the seat across from his at the desk. "Please."

Jace sat, and the Dean hurried around to his own side, sitting quickly and leaning forward in his seat. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

Jace set his bag on the ground and rifled through until he found the paper he'd filled out the day before. He slid it across the desk. "I need everything you have on this student. Class schedule, transcripts, personal files."

Aldertree eyed the official form and frowned. "But the original agreement only involved the release of Ms. Morgenstern's information. Ms—"

Jace held up a hand. "This person is involved in the case surrounding Ms. Morgenstern."

"But I'm not sure—"

"Did you or did you not agree to supply us with whatever we needed to do our job here, Dean Aldertree?"

The Dean looked up, meeting Jace's eyes. "Yes, but—"

"Excellent. Then this," Jace reached forward and tapped the paper in front of Aldertree, "is what I need. Now would be preferable. I'll wait." He crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair, eying the Dean carefully, daring him to refuse.

Aldertree swallowed and nodded slowly, rising from his chair. "Of course."

.o.O.o.

Clary hurried across the quad, her hair whipping against her face with the frigid wind. It wasn't late enough in the year for it to be this cold, but it felt as though it could snow. Dark clouds covered the early evening sky, and Clary thought maybe it would. She glanced down at her watch, cursing the time. She'd told Jace she would meet him and she was running late. Her last professor kept her after class for nearly thirty minutes to discuss a new project he hoped she'd help with. As if she didn't already have enough going on.

The small campus café appeared in front of her and she sighed in relief. She knew he waited inside. In that moment, all she needed was a cup of something hot and Jace. Her mind had been going over and over what Jonathan had told her that morning. And she just needed some time to process it all. She'd never been clueless to the fact that her father was in over his head with some things in his job, but she'd never considered the fact that he may have done anything that would warrant federal involvement.

Jonathan had finally opened up and told her that they were pretty sure the feds were looking into Valentine's business and personal affairs. When Clary had asked what they could possibly be looking for, Jonathan closed his eyes and told her it was best if she knew nothing. He'd just wanted to warn her to watch herself even closer for people who may try to get information out of her. That they were out there—and they could be anyone.

Clary tried to piece together everything he was telling her, to see if she could spot anything out of the ordinary in her own life. But other than the stalkers—who were way too obvious to be agents of any sort—she had no clue. She shivered with the thought that someone else may be watching her.

When she finally reached the front of the café, she grasped the handle and pulled the door open. The scent of coffee and baked goods wafted out, making her stomach growl. She glanced around, looking for the familiar halo of golden hair and spotting him almost immediately tucked away at a small table in the corner, his back to the wall and his face buried in a notebook he held in front of him. Clary smiled and unzipped her jacket before walking up to the counter and ordering a muffin and a hot chocolate. Once she had her purchase in hand, she moved to the back of the room, dropping her bag next to the table and sliding into the seat across from Jace.

He looked up, an expression of surprise on his face that quickly morphed into a smile as he snapped shut his notebook.

Clary grinned back and took the cover off her cup to blow on the hot liquid. "You don't need to stop on my account," she said. "I'm the one who's late."

Jace tucked the notebook into his bag. "I'm done. Just wasting time until you got here."

"You looked pretty absorbed in it." She took a sip, nearly scalding her tongue and setting the cup back on the table to cool more.

He laughed and sat back in his seat. "Yes. The parallels between government hierarchies around the world are highly fascinating subjects."

Clary stared at him, blinking. "Now . . . what?"

Jace shook his head and laughed again. "Exactly." He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward, tucking his hand around the back of her head and pulling her in. "Hey," he said quietly just before kissing her. It was small and innocent, but it still made her head spin.

"Hey," she grinned in return, her gaze staying on his golden one.

"I'm sorry I had to rush out before we had a chance to talk about what happened with Jonathan this morning."

Clary picked up her cup and took a drink, shaking her head. "Oh, it was nothing." She tried to smile while a kernel of guilt formed in her stomach. She hated not telling Jace, but she'd promised Jonathan she would tell no one. He'd made it sound imperative that no one knew. Finally, he was showing sparks of the old Jonathan, the one who cared about her and about what was happening with their family. She couldn't go against her promise to him. But she couldn't stand keeping things from Jace either. Unable to look him in the eye, she glanced down at the table and picked at the top of her muffin.

After a few moments of silence, Jace reached over and grabbed her chair, pulling it toward him and causing the legs to squeal against the tile floor. He lifted his hands to her face and forced her to look at him. "What's going on, Clary?"

"Nothing."

He let out a breath and dropped his head. And she knew he was aware she was not telling him something.

Clary closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his, not liking that she couldn't tell him. "It's really nothing. Just family drama. You know." She shrugged.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Her stomach clenched. Yes, she wanted to talk about it. She needed someone to help her make sense of it all. But she'd promised. "Not really."

"You sure?" He looked at her as if he didn't really believe her.

"Yeah." She wrapped her hands around his wrists, and answered the question he didn't ask. "I'm fine." Leaning into him, she let his lips take away the stress and worry. Whatever her father had gotten himself into had nothing to do with her. She knew nothing, and was honestly glad now that Jonathan had refused to tell her anything. This wasn't something she wanted to be involved in. The feds could watch her all they wanted. She had nothing to give them.

Jace pulled back and dropped his hands from her face. Clary felt the loss of them instantly. "We should go," he said, "if we want to stop at the club before starting out of the city."

Clary's mood brightened. She'd nearly forgotten that they were leaving for the country that evening to see Luke. Even though the circumstances behind her visit—the stolen locket and the hidden message inside—were not the ideal, she was still excited to see Luke.

"Yeah, all right."

Jace stood from his chair and gathered both of their bags, slinging them over his shoulder. Clary picked up her hot chocolate—which was finally cooled enough to drink—and her muffin, and started toward the front of the café. Just as they reached the door, it swung inward, revealing Maia on the other side.

"Hey," she said, rubbing her hands over her arms in an attempt to warm her chilled skin. "I called your name three times outside the art building." Her eyes moved from Clary to Jace and she glared with loathing. "Oh, it's you."

Jace tucked his arm around Clary's waist and pulled her into his side. "Yes, it's me. Don't tell me you've missed me already? It's only been three hours since I last graced you with my presence."

"'Graced' is not exactly the word I'd use."

"Gifted, amazed, wowed—whatever." Jace waved a hand as if to push Maia's words away. "There's no need to serenade me with your praises. I already know how you feel."

Maia turned wide eyes on Clary. She jacked her thumb in his direction and said, "He must be one _seriously_ good lay for you to put up with him."

Clary choked. "Maia!"

Jace laughed.

"What?" Maia asked.

Jace turned to Clary, his mouth pulled up in one corner. "Oh, do tell, Spitfire. I'm quite curious on how I rate for you too."

"I—" Clary sputtered, her face heating instantly. "I am not talking about . . . that . . . with either of you!"

Jace leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. She could feel him smiling. "It's okay, baby. You gave me all the confirmation I could ever need earlier," he whispered. "I can still feel your nails digging into my back."

Clary closed her eyes briefly and shivered. "Enough," she breathed.

Jace chuckled, swiped his mouth across her temple, and pulled back. "I'll be right outside."

Clary smiled and nodded. He moved forward, roughly brushing Maia's arm on the way. She stumbled and glowered once more.

"Ass," she said.

Clary laughed. "You two act like children."

"I can't help it. He makes me insane. Such a cocky douchebag."

"He's really not," Clary pointed out. "You've just shown him it annoys you, so he's gonna keep doing it."

"Oh, that's mature." Maia narrowed her eyes at Jace, who waited just outside the café.

"And how you're acting is?"

Maia glanced at Clary and shrugged.

Clary shook her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't answer earlier. I didn't hear you."

"It's okay. I figured you were on your way to see lover boy or something anyway."

"No—well, yes, but that wasn't why." Clary sighed. "I just have a lot on my mind so I'm a little spacey today."

"Oh?" Maia's brow rose. "Trouble in paradise?" She cocked her head toward Jace.

"No, no," Clary said, glancing at him herself. "Everything on that front is fine. Better than fine."

"I still can't believe you're a couple. You were supposed to bag him and get out."

Clary continued to study him, watching his brow crease as he did something on his phone. "No. I don't want out."

"Well, I certainly don't get it, but whatever." Maia crossed her arms over her chest. "So what are your plans this weekend? Work?"

"Um," Clary turned her attention back to Maia. "No, I have the weekend off. I'm going to visit an old friend."

"Oh really? Who?"

Clary opened her mouth to speak when her cell phone buzzed in her pocket. She held up a finger and proceeded to fish through her jeans until she wrapped her fingers around it. Pulling it out, she read the message on the display. Simon.

_Izzy's trying to pack the entire apartment!_

She giggled and typed back a message.

_Gotta stop at the club, then on our way. STOP HER._

_You don't understand! It's—all right. I'll try, but if I'm dead when you arrive, you'll know my attempts to calm hurricane Isabelle failed._

Clary shook her head and tucked the phone back into her pocket. "I'm sorry, I gotta go," she said. "Talk to you Monday?"

"Yeah, sure."

Pushing open the door, Clary was met by a blast of freezing air. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. All of the leaves were off the trees now, and layered the ground with brown, yellow, and red. Jace moved away from the wall and hiked their bags further up onto his shoulder.

"Ready?" he asked.

"More than." She held out her hand, and he took it, engulfing her tiny palm in his. "Let's go."

The subway ride to the club seemed to take longer than usual. Of course, maybe that had something to do with the headache now forming in the center of Clary's forehead from giving every girl who glanced at Jace the evil eye. It was certainly exhausting, considering it was pretty much—everyone.

A brunette from across the car looked up from under her lashes and bit her lip before grinning. Clary whipped her head toward Jace, who smiled back in return. She narrowed her eyes. To his credit, it _was_ only a normal smile and not his sexy smirk, but still, that didn't mean Clary had to like it.

"What?" he asked.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "You know, you don't have to encourage it."

"Encourage what?"

Clary narrowed her eyes more. "You know what!" she whisper-shouted. "Them." She cocked her head over her shoulder to the brunette.

A sly grin creeped over his lips. "Are you jealous again, Spitfire?"

"No." She looked away and huffed.

"You don't need to be jealous, baby."

Clary whipped back around. "I'm _not_ jealous. I'm—I . . . don't know what I am, but you're _mine_. And I don't like the way they look at you."

Jace smiled so large Clary though maybe his face would break in two. Before she had a chance to return the expression, his hands were on her cheeks and his lips covering hers. She had a momentary flash of embarrassment wash over her due to the PDA in the middle of the subway car, but after a few seconds, the feel of his warm mouth on hers erased all of that. Clary reached up and twisted her hands into the front of his jacket, pulling him closer and letting him kiss her. By the time he backed away, she was dizzy.

"Better?" he said quietly.

She glanced around, noticing the red cheeks and averted gazes on several of the more obvious girls on the train. She nodded.

"Good."

Clary didn't notice a single glance in his direction after that.

.o.O.o.

While Jace waited for Clary to get her check and rearrange her schedule for the next week, he played around with the tracking settings on his phone. He didn't know how he'd managed to slip the device on the girl without her noticing, but it seemed to be working. Especially since he knew without a doubt that she knew what he was. He would have thought she'd be more cautious around him, but she hadn't paid him any attention. She was definitely a good actress, he'd give her that.

A loud bang sounded from behind him. Jace turned and spotted Aline coming into the club. She wore her work skirt hiked up so high Jace could see glimpses of her red panties when she walked. He rolled his eyes and went back to his phone. He couldn't believe he'd ever been attracted to someone so trashy. Then again, he supposed that was the type he'd always gone for—not because it was what he liked, per se. It was just that they were easy and used to being tossed out the next day. God, he'd been such an ass.

The click of her heels grew louder until they stopped right in front of him. He glanced up, meeting her narrowed gaze. Her face was pinched like she'd just bitten into a lemon.

"What're you doing here? The club isn't even open yet." She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage out further than Jace thought possible. Any moment, and those things would pop out.

"Really? And I thought the locked doors meant, 'Come on in and make yourself at home.'"

She rolled her eyes. "So I suppose you're here with _her_."

"If by _her_ you mean Clary, then yes, I'm here with_ her_. She is my girlfriend after all."

Aline cringed. "I still say you're insane to be with her. You've turned into such a whipped loser."

Jace grinned and moved into her. She shivered. "And I say that the color green doesn't become you, Aline. Get over it."

Just then, Clary emerged from Magnus's office, the very colorful man strolling behind her. She left him at the bar and moved toward where Jace and Aline stood. As soon as Clary approached, Aline huffed and spun on her heel. Clary eyed Jace suspiciously.

"What was that all about?"

Jace wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her lightly. "Same old, same old." He met her eyes. "You ready to get out of here?"

She nodded and stepped out of his embrace, reaching out to take his hand. "Let's go."

Back at the apartment, Clary had to immediately assume damage control when they found Isabelle with Simon trapped in a headlock. Apparently, he'd tried to "lighten" her burden by telling her she could only bring one overnight bag. Jace knew better than to tell Isabelle how much to pack.

When Clary had finally straightened her two roommates out, they gathered their bags and made their way down to the car Jace had borrowed from Maryse. Alec stayed behind to watch over things on the home front. Jace wanted someone to monitor the apartment and to keep an eye out for the other stalker. Plus, Alec had recently made a new contact within Morgenstern's camp, and had several things to take care of over the weekend. At least that's what he said. Jace figured it had more to do with the sparkly club owner he'd been sneaking off to meet more and more lately.

The drive to the country would have been quite peaceful if it hadn't been for the constant bickering back and forth between Simon and Isabelle. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. The tension between the two was driving Jace insane. He wondered if it had been as bad between himself and Clary. Oh, who was he kidding. As annoying as Simon and Isabelle were, they had nothing on them.

After an hour of driving, Clary finally directed Jace down a worn, dirt path off the highway. It curved around a small section of evergreen trees and ended in front of an old farmhouse set in front of an open field. The white, wood-sided two-story was well kept, with an abundance of landscaping and lawn décor. A slightly dilapidated red barn sat off in the distance to the left of the house, and an old truck was parked near the side entrance.

The four of them clamored out of the car, and Simon took no time running up to the porch and ringing the doorbell. Jace looked at Clary, his brows raised in question.

She shook her head and laughed. "He used to come with my mom and me sometimes. He loves Luke."

Isabelle followed Simon up the stairs, and Jace and Clary lingered behind. The door opened and a middle aged man with a stocky build and ruddy complexion stood in the square of light. A huge smile lit his face as Simon launched himself forward, hugging the man tightly, then pulling away while still holding his shoulders.

He greeted Simon with a hearty laugh and a slap on the back, then moved on to Isabelle, holding her hand between both of his while smiling widely.

When they'd both passed, his gaze fell on Clary, and Jace was sure he saw a glistening in the man's eyes.

"Clary," he said.

"Luke." Clary's voice cracked before she opened her arms wide and engulfed the man in front of her. "It's been such a long time."

"Too long," Luke said, burying his face in her shoulder, his glasses knocked askew on his nose.

When he finally released her, his eyes fell on Jace. A flicker of recognition crossed his gaze. "And this must be Jace." He released Clary and held out a hand.

"It is," Clary said. "Jace, this is Luke."

Jace took Luke's offered hand. "It's nice to meet you, sir."

Luke studied Jace. It was only for a moment, but it still made him uncomfortable. Finally, Luke snapped out of it and released Jace's hand, gesturing for the both of them to enter. "Come in, please."

Clary walked through the doorway and disappeared into the house. And just as Jace was about to follow, Luke's hand came up and pressed against his chest. Jace's brows rose in surprise.

Luke's face was impassive. "Before we go in, I think maybe you and I should have a little chat. Don't you," he lowered his voice to a near whisper, "Agent?"

* * *

_Until next time . . ._

_Lots of thanks and love to LLWB. You are my favorite. Forever and ever, and the best beta I could ask for! Love you! SUCK IT! *muah*_

_And niniadepapa, you rock my socks with your willingness to give DJ sexy Spanish. *muah* to you too!_

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	23. Half Truths

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**22. Half-Truths**

Enjoy. :)**  
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_Chapter songs:_

_**A Modern Myth – 30 Seconds to Mars_

_**If My Heart Was a House – Owl City_

_**Beautiful World – Carolina Liar_

_**Better Man – Matthew Mayfield_

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Jace stared at Luke, his body tense and unmoving. Luke didn't just call Jace "Agent." He couldn't have. The air around him grew thick and inhibiting, his lungs struggling to draw it in. "Excuse me?" Jace asked.

Luke stepped out onto the small porch and closed the door behind him, plunging both of them into the moonlit night. Silence blared in Jace's ears, weighing him down in its foreign quiet. He swore everything in the world was holding its breath to hear what Luke was going to say.

"I think you heard me, Agent Herondale."

"I don't know what you're—"

"I'm pretty sure you do." Luke sighed. "They've certainly trained you well. I'll give them that."

Jace swallowed, but said nothing. How did this man know who he was? No one should have known. Not only did the Agency cover themselves well, Jace wasn't even graduated yet. He wouldn't have been on any of the rosters. As far as the Agency was concerned, he didn't exist. Even though Jace couldn't yet see him, he could feel Luke's eyes on him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and he was alert, watching every word that might make its way out of his mouth.

"I wasn't sure when Clary first mentioned you . . . I recognized your name, and thought maybe . . . but when I saw you—when I saw the unmistakable resemblance of Stephen Herondale, well, then, I knew for sure. And knowing your mother, I knew you would be one of them. Celine would never allow a son of hers _not_ to pledge."

Jace swallowed. "You know my parents?" His eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw Luke lean against the railing and cross his arms over his chest. Jace couldn't get used to the quiet. It unsettled him more in this situation than it normally would. He couldn't think. Without the noise of the city, every little thing was magnified. Laughter floated out from inside and Jace prayed none of them came out here. He couldn't have his cover blown. Not yet. Not when he was so close to figuring out who was after Clary.

"Knew. Back when we went through the Academy together." Luke's eyes met Jace's, and Jace raised his brows. "I'm retired. Have been for some time, but I still have contacts."

Jace still didn't speak. One of the first rules they were taught was that if the interrogator could get nothing out of them, they couldn't prove anything. So he stayed silent.

Luke stepped across the porch toward him, moving into a patch of moonlight. His eyes were kind but stern. An enigma Jace couldn't understand. How could he be both benign and demanding at the same time? Luke leaned forward. "I know you won't talk, Agent. The code is as ingrained in my mind as it is yours, but know this: I know what you're after, and she can't give it to you. Clary knows nothing. We made sure she knew nothing." He paused. "That girl is—"

The door opened suddenly, causing Jace to wrench his head back and Luke to turn. Clary stuck her head out. "Luke, are you torturing my boyfriend?" she teased.

Jace heard Luke suck in a breath before he quickly recovered. "Oh, no, of course not. We're just having a man-to-man chat," he turned to face Jace, "aren't we?"

"Sure." Jace nodded.

Clary rubbed her hands over her arms. "Well, hurry up and get in here. You'll both freeze to death standing out in the cold." She turned her gaze on Luke, and small smile formed on her lips as her eyes narrowed playfully. "And don't tell me you're not torturing him—I may not have been here in a few years, but I still remember how you operate."

Luke laughed and put his arm around Clary's shoulder, stepping over the threshold and into the house. "Never could put anything past you, could I?"

"Nuh uh." She giggled and kissed him on the cheek.

Luke gave Jace one last pointed look before releasing Clary and moving further into the house. Jace got the message. It clearly said: "I'm not through with you yet." Clary wrapped her arms around herself and stepped out onto the porch.

"He didn't scare you too much, did he?"

Jace let out a forced laugh. She didn't know how wrong, yet how right she actually was. "No."

Clary walked over to him and tucked her arms around his waist, peering up into his face. "What's wrong?"

He looked down at her, absorbing the concern in her eyes. In that moment, he wanted to tell her everything. To just lay it all out there for her. He wanted no more secrets, no more lies, no more fear of what would happen when she finally found out. But even there, in the middle of the country with only her and him and the surrounding openness, he couldn't tell her. He couldn't risk the dangers to her or to himself. If he were caught divulging Agency secrets—such as this case—he would no longer be able to protect her. With a sigh, he bent and touched his lips to her forehead. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm perfect, baby."

She smiled and snuggled into him for a moment longer before pulling back and cocking her head toward the open door. "Well, come on then. Let's go inside, settle in for a bit, and then we can talk to Luke."

Jace's chest tightened. He knew he couldn't tell Clary his secret, but that didn't mean Luke couldn't. As much as Jace wished the information could come out once and for all, it wasn't time yet. He couldn't afford her to know before he could catch both of her stalkers. Forcing a smile on his lips, he nodded and allowed her to pull him through the open door.

The front hall of the house was narrow and lined with wood paneling. Not the cheap stuff found in many older homes that reeked of seventies décor, but the real stuff. Long, individual planks of stained maple. A steep staircase sat nestled against one side, and a coat rack tucked into the corner.

Jace pulled off his jacket and hung it next to Clary's. She took his hand and led him into the living room. Simon and Isabelle sat on a braided rug in front of an old-fashioned looking wood stove, a fire blazing inside. Luke rummaged around in the kitchen, calling out to see who wanted hot chocolate.

"Only if you have those miniature marshmallows to go in it!" Simon returned. He leaned back onto his elbows. "I love those things."

"What're you? Five?" Isabelle asked.

Simon closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the fire, letting the heat warm his red cheeks. "You don't have to be five to enjoy fluffy, sugary goodness."

"Simon's right," Clary sat on the rug across from Simon and dragged Jace down behind her. He pulled one leg up and draped his arm over it while she leaned back against his chest. "Just consider yourselves lucky he hasn't asked you to watch him cram an entire bag in his mouth."

"Wait," Simon sat up abruptly, "should we do that? I haven't been beaten yet."

Luke came into the room, pausing for just a moment as his eyes fell on Jace and Clary. Jace averted his gaze, not liking the look the man gave him. He knew this must seem odd, especially considering he knew what Jace was. And he could only imagine what Luke must've thought. But how could he explain to this man, who obviously thought of Clary more as a daughter than as a friend's child, that this wasn't exactly what it looked like? That Jace loved her. That he only wanted to protect and care for her. Even to his own ears it sounded contrived. If it were him, he'd definitely think he was using Clary too.

"No. I absolutely do not think we should do that," Isabelle said.

"Why not?" Simon turned to her. "Scared I'd beat ya?"

"I'm quite positive you couldn't."

"Isabelle does have a pretty big mouth," Jace offered and Isabelle threw him a dirty look.

"And like you don't?" she said, her brows raised in challenge.

"No. I have a smart mouth. That's completely different. And it's a talent so immense not many can top it."

"Yes, Jace." Clary snorted. "Your mouth is talented beyond measure." She rolled her eyes.

Isabelle laughed and Simon choked. Luke stared at her. Clary looked at them, dumbfounded, and then her eyes widened with realization.

She slapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head, her cheeks turning bright red. "That's . . . that's not what I meant! I was being sarcastic!"

Jace chuckled and rubbed his hand up and down her arm, wanting badly to say something assy and suggestive, but wouldn't dare with Luke staring them down. He was going to try his hardest to make the man not hate him any more than he already did.

Luke cleared his throat and stepped into their little circle, setting the tray of hot chocolates on the rug between them. Each of them grabbed their cups and moved back to their previous positions around the fire. Jace set his aside, not really in the mood for it at the moment. Settling back into a rocking chair at the edge of the rug, Luke held his cup gingerly in his hand, his eyes wandering over each of them, but mostly Jace and Clary.

"So," Luke said. "Tell me how you all met."

"Well," Simon said. "I'd just finished building the biggest, most amazing sand castle, and this klutzy red-headed girl tripped over the side of the sandbox and face-planted it right in the middle of my masterpiece." He eyed Clary with pretend contempt.

Clary laughed. "I think you have that the other way around. It was _you_ who tripped and destroyed _my_ sandcastle. Plus, that wasn't when we first met. It was when that big kid pushed me off the swings and you carried me to the nurse, remember?"

Simon's brows furrowed and after a moment, he shrugged. "Whatever. I like my version better."

"Of course you would. But I think Luke meant how we met Jace and Isabelle."

Luke chuckled. "I did—not that that story ever gets old. I can still remember how Simon hacked up sand for nearly thirty minutes afterward."

Simon reached up and rubbed his chest, his face fixed into a grimace. "Don't remind me. That actually really hurt. Did you know I've never set foot in another sandbox since? That experience scarred me for life."

"That's not exactly true." Clary took a sip of her hot chocolate. "Remember that time at Michelle Carter's birthday party when you—"

Simon thrust himself forward and grabbed Clary, his hand covering her mouth. "You promised you'd never speak of that again!" he rasped.

She giggled from behind his hand.

"Uggggh!" he said and ripped his palm away from her face. "Did you just_ lick_ me?"

Clary fell back laughing, landing hard against Jace's chest.

"That's disgusting! I'm not a lollipop, Clary."

Jace bent and whispered in her ear. "I sincerely hope you wash out your mouth before kissing me again,"

"No way," she said before thrusting her fingers into his hair and pulling him down, pressing a sloppy kiss on his lips before pushing him away with a laugh.

Jace wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to look annoyed, but couldn't help the grin trying to peek out. "You're going to pay for that, Spitfire."

"I look forward to your retaliation, Cass." Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

He shook his head and looked up, catching Luke's gaze. Jace had expected to see anger, or even disgust, but that wasn't what he saw. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was, but Luke's expression didn't look exactly bad. It looked more . . . unsure, curious.

Conversation flowed easily between Simon, Clary and Luke. Even Isabelle found places to insert herself. But Jace sat back and quietly listened, watching how Clary reacted in this place and with these people. She was so . . . alive. The smile on her face was bigger and more genuine than he'd ever seen it. She looked at Luke like a daughter looked at her father. And he looked at her in the same way. It was immediately obvious that the two had a very strong bond. Jace wondered why she'd stayed away as long as she had.

After a good hour or so, Luke stood and stretched before gathering the empty mugs. Jace had never finished his, but Clary had decided she wanted it anyway. As Luke made his way back into the kitchen, Jace excused himself to use the restroom. On his way back out, he was met in the hallway by Luke. Jace stopped abruptly, unsure as to what the man may want now.

Luke moved closer, his eyes intent on Jace. Before Luke could speak, Jace did.

"I'm not using her," he said. "It's not like that."

Luke leaned a shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

Luke continued to stare at him, making Jace feel even more uncomfortable.

Jace sighed. "Look, it may have started out being one thing, but—"

"It doesn't really matter how it started, does it? You're still lying to her. There's no way around that."

Jace sucked in a breath and looked up at the ceiling. "I know."

"What does she think you are?"

"Does it really matter?

Luke raised a brow and Jace sighed.

"A college student."

Luke nodded. "I have to admit, this is a genius plan on the Agency's part. Sending in trainees to do an Agent's job."

"How do you—"

"Because I just know." Luke paused. "It's obvious she cares for you, and I think you care for her too. But in the long run, that doesn't really matter. You're still going to gut her when she finds out."

Jace closed his eyes and lowered his head. "I don't want to do that."

"It may not be what you want, but it's inevitable. The moment this went beyond what it was meant to, you made it that way. There's no way to change that now. No way to take it back." Luke paused, his voice lowering to a whisper. "Trust me, I know."

Jace's head snapped up and he opened his mouth to speak when a voice from behind interrupted him.

"Hey, there you are."

Luke cleared his throat and straightened up. Jace turned to find Clary standing in a patch of light in the hallway. He smiled, but the gesture was forced. What did Luke mean?

She returned the gesture. "I was looking for you."

"Sorry. I just ran into Luke on the way back from the bathroom."

"I see that," she said, moving toward them. When she reached Jace's side, she caught his hand in hers and lifted her gaze to Luke's. "Can I borrow him?"

"Of course," Luke said. "He's all yours."

Jace met Luke's gaze and swallowed hard. But Luke said nothing, and just nodded once, turning back toward the kitchen. It didn't look as though he would reveal Jace's secret, but that thought didn't make Jace feel any better. He still had to deal with the knowledge that someday, someday very soon, she would know, and he had no idea how she would react to it. Would she be able to see past the lies to the truth? Or would the lies be more than she could take, and the truth buried beneath them?

Clary bit her lip and grinned, tugging on his arm. "Come on. I want to show you something."

Jace pushed aside his worry and allowed her to pull him along, wrapping his arm around her waist. She led him back to the front hall, pulled her coat from the rack, and handed him his.

He frowned, slipping his arms through the sleeves. "Where are you taking me?"

She smiled and leaned into him, running her finger down the zipper of his jacket. "You'll see."

.o.O.o.

The old barn might have looked like it may fall over on your head, but Clary knew looks could be deceiving. She clutched Jace's hand and pulled him through the double doors. Ancient farm tools hung along the walls, their metal surfaces glinting in the stream of moonlight coming through the opening. Clary reached to her right and grabbed a flashlight sitting atop an old wooden workbench. She tapped it a few times on her palm and a pale white glow emanated from the end.

Jace moved up beside her, letting out a low whistle from between his teeth. "Should I be worried you brought me here to murder me?" He eyed the walls.

Clary laughed. "Why would you say something like that?"

"I get the sneaking suspicion Luke doesn't care much for me, and this place doesn't exactly give me the warm fuzzies. If I didn't know better, I'd think you lured me out here for your pseudo-father to inflict untold amounts of torture on me in this lovely barn of pain."

Clary glanced up at him. His face was half hidden in shadows, the dark filling every line in his features. She couldn't tell by just the sound of his voice whether he was kidding or not. "What did Luke say to you?"

"What?" He looked down at her.

She turned and grasped his wrist, pulling him in closer. "Did he say something to you? You've been acting strange since we got here."

"No." Jace bent and touched his mouth to her head. "I've just got stuff on my mind. Nothing you," he placed his finger under her chin and lifted, "need to worry about."

She eyed him skeptically. "Are you sure?"

He let out a breathy laugh. "Positive."

"Well, you don't need to worry about me or Luke doing anything to you either. You're much too pretty to kill."

"This is true." Leaning in, Jace kissed her top lip lightly. "How could I have forgotten how enamored you are with me?"

Clary shoved him. "Don't be such a jackass or I'll take it back, and allow Luke to do his worst."

"No you won't." He grabbed her waist and chuckled. "Now what is it you wanted to show me?"

Clary had almost forgotten the reason she'd brought him out to the barn. Pulling away, she kept her hand in his and tugged. "This way." She grinned.

Nestled in the back, behind a few decrepit farm implements Luke collected—just to say he had them—lay a rickety, old ladder, the wooden rungs worn from years of climbing. Clary placed one hand and one foot on the ladder and started up. The feel of the wood beneath her hands, and the smell of hay and oil brought back a slew of memories. Flashes of her mother's smile, Luke's laughter, and the feeling of being loved, of belonging, invaded her mind.

Once she reached the top, she stepped out onto a small loft. The same shabby couch and coffee table sat in the middle. A thick layer of dust covered every inch, making it obvious that Luke hadn't been up there in years. Clary moved a few feet into the space, her eyes sliding over the boxes piled in the corner and the large doors on the far wall. Everything looked exactly the same as it had the last time she'd been there. It was sad to think the space had been left completely unused since she'd gone. It had been such a sanctuary for her growing up.

She walked over to the doors on the back wall and undid the latch of the top half, swinging them outward and leaning on her elbows against the edge. Cold wind whipped against her cheeks, and the very first snowflakes of the year drifted aimlessly from the sky. Clary closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh, clean scent of the night air.

Jace came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her head. "So, what is this place?"

"Just a little something Luke set up for me." She opened her eyes and leaned back into him, letting her head relax against his chest. "Back in the city, I never really had anyplace that was all my own. I had to share my bedroom with the library." She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Luke thought I deserved something that was just mine. Here," she broke away from him and moved back into the room, making her way toward the side wall, "watch this."

Jace stayed where she'd left him in front of the makeshift window. Clary felt along the wall until her hand passed over a switch. She stopped and flipped it up with her thumb. Hundreds of tiny Christmas lights lit the loft in a dull glow. They stretched across the ceiling in a shape reminiscent of a tent. Each strand flowed out of the center and draped from one rafter to the next, trailing down the wall at the opposite end.

Clary looked up and smiled, feeling the same sense of nostalgia wash over her again. Even though it had been years since she'd set foot in this space, it felt as though she'd never left. Tearing her gaze away from the spectacle on the ceiling, she found Jace studying her. "What?"

Jace shook his head. "Nothing. You just . . ." He moved toward her, taking one of her hands in his and raising the other to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering along her cheek. "You look different here."

She frowned. "How so?"

Jace's eyes moved over her face. "You look . . . free. Happy."

"I guess that's true." She let her gaze linger on his, wondering what he was thinking being there. Was it the same for him as it had been for her when she'd observed him in his grandfather's home? Did she radiate that same glow? That same sense of home? "There have only been three places where I've ever felt like that."

"Oh yeah, where are those?"

"Well, you're right; one is definitely here at Luke's. Here, I always got to be just me. Just Clary. I didn't have to be anything other than that." She smiled. "And the second is hanging out with Simon. He always just liked me the way I was. He didn't care who my father was, or where in Manhattan I lived." She paused.

"And the third?"

Looking up, she caught Jace's eyes. She reached forward and ran her fingers down his arms and tucked them around her waist. "Here." She pressed her palm against his chest to the space right over his heart. "Right here."

He grinned and shook his head. "You are so unbelievably cheesy."

"You say that like you're making fun of me, but I know you actually like it."

"Do not." He moved in, touching her lips with his.

Clary brushed her thumb across his cheek. "Do too," she said.

Jace's hands tightened on her back, but his kiss stayed soft, his mouth warm and light.

She smiled into him just as she heard the doors to the barn open below. Drawing back, she called out, "Luke?"

"Clary?" Luke's voice floated up to where she and Jace stood.

"Up here," she called, giving Jace one last kiss and pulling away. She went to the railing situated at the open side of the loft and leaned over, peering down to the ground floor.

Luke stood in front of the large wood pile near the front doors. "I see you've rediscovered your hideaway?"

Clary heard the smile in his voice, and couldn't help returning it even though she knew he couldn't see it. "Of course. This is the best place on Earth." _Besides being wrapped up in the boy up here with me_, she thought to herself.

He chuckled. "Well, don't let me bother you. I'm just collecting some wood for the stove."

"We'll help you."

"We will?" Jace moved in behind her, placing his hands on her hips and nuzzling his nose in her hair. "Things were just getting interesting." His mouth grazed her ear.

"Behave," Clary breathed, while holding back a shiver.

He chuckled and nipped at her lobe before drawing back and starting down the ladder.

"Don't worry about it. You're a guest, you don't need to help," Luke called.

"Nonsense." Clary moved back over to the side wall, switching off the strands of lights before making her way back over to the ladder. "I just wanted to show Jace, that's all. I came here to see you, not to hang out in the loft."

She turned and climbed down. Jace reached out to help her when she hit the bottom, his hands wrapping around her waist as he lifted her from the last rung. Both of them walked across the barn and met Luke near the stack of wood, each taking an armful before exiting into the night. Snow still fell lightly and dusted the ground. It amazed Clary how much this place still felt exactly the same as it had so long ago. She could almost pretend she was still a kid, and that her mother waited for her inside. A wave of grief washed over her at the thought. She didn't often think of Jocelyn. The pain of remembering was too much. But here, in this place, she couldn't help the memories that bombarded her. And for once, even though it made her sad, thinking of her mom felt good, right.

The wooden steps of the front porch groaned under their feet, their footprints leaving distinct impressions in the snow. Luke opened the door without a word, and gestured them both inside. The house lay quiet when they entered.

"Where did Simon and Izzy go?" Clary asked as she set her pile on top of Luke's and watched Jace do the same.

Luke glanced around as if he were searching for them. "No idea. Must've gone upstairs already."

Clary glanced at her watch. Half-past midnight. "I guess it is getting pretty late."

Luke grinned and tossed a new log into the stove. Clary bit her lip and glanced over at Jace. He shrugged and raised his brows, knowing exactly the thoughts she was having. She wanted to ask Luke about the paper, about what he might know about what it meant. But not if it would keep him up. She remembered him being somewhat of a night owl, but wasn't sure if he still adhered to that schedule.

"Are you two heading up?" Luke eyed them, and Clary could tell he was wondering what type of sleeping arrangements they'd decided on.

Clary looked at Jace once more and he nodded almost imperceptibly. She drew in a breath and returned her gaze to Luke's. "Actually, if you're not going to bed, there's something I wanted to talk to you about."

He raised a brow and stood from his squatting position next to the stove. "Sure." He gestured to the seating area. "I can wait for a bit longer."

Clary and Jace made their way over to the loveseat and sat while Luke took the armchair across from them. She drew in a breath and tried to organize her thoughts. It was a very real possibility that even though his address was left inside the locket, he would have no idea what the rest meant. But she wouldn't know until she asked.

"You know my mother's locket? The heart shaped one?"

Luke frowned. "Yes."

"Well, it was stolen recently." She decided not to include the fact that she'd been stalked and that these so-called stalkers broke into her apartment to get it. These were facts he didn't need to know. The less he worried, the better.

"Stolen? How did that happen?"

Clary waved the question away, hoping he'd let that particular point drop. "That's not really important. What is, is what I found inside it before it went missing." She held her hand out to Jace. He pulled out his wallet and placed the slip of paper in her hand. Clary paused for a moment before handing it to Luke. He took it hesitantly between his fingers and looked down, studying the scrawl. "Do you know what it means?"

His mouth dropped open and creases stretched across his forehead. "It's my address."

"Obviously, we've figured that part out," Jace said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "We were hoping you could help us with the letters and numbers to either side of it."

"It's my mother's handwriting," Clary added quietly. "It's a message from her. But I don't know what it means."

Luke studied the paper for several agonizing moments before handing it back to her. "I'm afraid I don't know." He glanced up and met Clary's eyes. "I'm sorry. It's definitely her handwriting, but I just don't know what she was trying to say or why she left my address."

Clary's shoulders dropped and she looked down at the paper in her hand. It was all she had. The only clue that might tell her why these people were after her, and their one lead, the one person they'd hoped could help them, couldn't. She sighed and handed the paper back to Jace, and he tucked it carefully back where he'd gotten it from.

Luke stood from his seat, his stance off from the norm. Clary figured he was just tired. She rose from the loveseat and hugged him. "Thank you for letting us come, and for looking at the paper. I'll figure it out somehow."

He pressed his lips to her head and she thought she heard him sigh. "Anytime. You know you're always welcome here."

She smiled into his chest, feeling the scratchiness of his sweater against her cheek and smelling the scent of him. The same scent he'd always carried that reminded her of campfires, woods, and home. "I guess I'll turn in." She looked up into his face. "You should get some rest too. Simon and Isabelle will wear you out for sure."

He laughed and squeezed her once before releasing her. "Goodnight, Clary."

"'Night." She grinned before taking Jace's hand and leading him into the hallway. The smile fell from her face as soon as the darkness cloaked her.

Jace pulled her close at the foot of the stairs and she buried her face into him. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Clary let out a slow breath. "No. I don't know. I just . . ."

He cupped her cheeks and lifted her face to meet his. "We're going to figure this out. I promise we will."

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I'm tired."

"Go up. I'll go get the bags."

Clary nodded and Jace bent to kiss her cheek before turning toward the front door. She stared after him for a few moments. All she wanted was to know what was going on, for her life to go back to the way it was before. But, as she climbed the stairs of this house that was such a huge and familiar part of her past, the realization that that was no closer to happening than it had been that morning bore down on her, crushing any little bit of hope she'd carried.

.o.O.o.

Jace lifted both his and Clary's bags out of the car and slammed the trunk shut. All around him, snow fell. Silence still permeated everything, but he was getting somewhat used to it now. It was actually comforting instead of disturbing. He stood there staring off into the dark, thinking about how he could get the information they needed now that Luke didn't know anything. He couldn't believe what a waste this trip had been. Well, a waste in the investigatory sense. Not in the sense of making Clary happy. She felt at home here, that much he could tell. It was nice to see her like that. Unstressed. Happy. Home.

He drew in a breath, the frigid air coating his lungs and his exhale turning white against the black night. Picking up the bags, he started back toward the house, the frozen grass crunching under his feet. Just as he reached out to open the door, the knob turned and the door opened. Luke stood in the door frame, his brows pulled together and eyes tense.

"I need to speak to you," he said quietly.

Jace's eyes darted to the stairs. The sound of running water hit his ears.

"Please," Luke said.

He hesitated only briefly. "All right."

Jace set the bags down by the door and followed Luke through the living area and into a room situated just off to the side. He entered what looked like an office. Bookshelves lined the back walls and a large wooden desk sat nestled in the corner. Several books lay open and a mass of scattered papers littered the surface.

Luke shut the door behind him, and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "This wasn't supposed to happen yet."

Jace froze. "What wasn't?"

Luke met his eyes. Worry, pain, and fear stared out at him. "This. This . . . whole situation." His arm swept out toward Jace. "She's not supposed to know yet."

"Know what? What are you talking about?"

Luke sighed and moved past Jace to the area behind the desk. He reached up and removed a painting from its place, revealing a small gray safe built into the wall. Twisting the dial several times, there was a click and the door swung open. Luke reached inside, withdrawing a small back box. He closed the safe and turned, coming back over to Jace. His eyes never left the non-descript box he cradled in his palm. With a deep breath, he held it out to Jace.

Jace hesitated for a moment before taking it carefully. He lifted his gaze to Luke. "What is this?"

"Open it." The defeat in Luke's voice shocked Jace. He didn't look like the type of man to give in so easily.

Jace swallowed and lowered his eyes. The box felt weighted and wrong. Taking in a deep breath, he opened the lid, finding a small velvet bag inside. He loosened the drawstring and tipped it upside down. Into his palm, fell a cool metal object. He tucked the box and bag into his pocket before examining the object closer. He frowned. "It's a locket."

Luke nodded. "This is Jocelyn's locket. The real one. The one Clary had was a fake."

Jace frowned. "But . . . why?"

"Because this locket," Luke reached out and plucked it from Jace's hand, holding it in the dull glow of light coming from a nearby lamp, "isn't just a locket." With a click, it sprung open, but instead of the empty space normally found inside, multiple notched protrusions stuck out along the sides and from the middle. "It's a key."

Jace took it back, holding it closer to his face to study the intricate detailing. He'd never seen anything like it. "A key to what?"

"To a box that matches it."

Jace glanced back up. "And where is this box?"

Luke's eyes didn't waver from Jace's. "Hidden somewhere no one will find it." He paused. "No one but you."

"You know where it is?"

"I do. I've always known. I'm the one who hid it." He shook his head and looked away. "But I need you to swear to me that when you retrieve it, you won't reveal its contents to Clary."

"Why not?"

"Because she can't know yet." Luke's stare bore down on Jace. "It's important she not know. Her life depends on it."

"How do you know that?" Jace felt his throat constrict. What was in that box that was so dangerous?

"Because it's what got her mother killed."

Jace sucked in a breath, and Luke bowed his head, pain and regret radiating off from him in waves.

"Do you still have that slip of paper? The one Jocelyn left?"

Jace blinked and answered slowly. "Yes."

"Good." Luke nodded, and gestured dejectedly for Jace to sit. "You're going to need it."

.o.O.o.

Jace stood outside the door to Clary's room, her bag in his hand and the presence of the locket burning a hole into his thigh. He wanted to go in, yet he didn't. The fact that he was now harboring another secret sat uncomfortably in his stomach. He was so sick of lying, of pretending. All he wanted was to tell her the truth, to come clean and just be done with all of this. He knew in reality he couldn't do that, couldn't tell her anything without risking them both, but that didn't lessen his desire to do it anyway. And now there was more. More that she deserved to know and he couldn't tell. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his mind before she noticed the stress on his face. She could read him like no one else, and the last thing he needed was her seeing this and questioning him.

Taking in a breath, he reached out and twisted the knob, pushing the door open slowly. But once his eyes fell on her, he knew he'd worried for nothing. She lay on the bed, curled into a ball in the center, her hands tucked under her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing steady.

Jace set the bags next to the dresser and moved across the room. For a few moments, he just looked at her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She always looked so peaceful when she slept. He switched off the lamp on the nightstand and pulled the blanket from the end of the bed over her. His fingers lingered at her cheek, and he had the pressing urge to apologize. For lying, for hiding, for everything. Leaning over, he pressed his lips to her forehead.

She stirred under his touch and he pulled away, not wanting to wake her. But she reached out and grabbed his arm, her fingers warm and soft against his skin.

"Stay," she mumbled, her eyes still closed. "Stay."

Jace kicked off his shoes, and slid carefully onto the bed with her. She snuggled up next to him, tucking her head under his chin. He wrapped his arms around her and listened as her breathing evened once more.

Closing his eyes, he prayed for a way to make her understand. When the time came, he hoped he could. He knew she deserved better, she deserved the truth and a man that could give it to her. He wanted to give it to her.

So badly.

Guilt spread through him like a disease, eating away at his insides. He wanted to be better.

A better person.

A better man.

She deserved nothing less. For her, he wanted to be nothing less. But he wasn't, and he knew it.

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

His chest clenched and he held her tighter, knowing that soon, she may not want him to hold her at all. Tilting his face, he brushed his lips against her head and kept them there, breathing her in. The scent of her surrounded him, and he knew he had no choice. He would keep up the charade. He would protect her. Even if doing that, if keeping her safe, cost him everything.

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_As always, a huge thank you to lightlacedwithbeauty for the quick turnaround on the chapter. Te adora! Muchos besos para ti. *muah*_

_Until next time . . ._

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	24. Everyone Lies

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**23. Everyone Lies**

_Chapter songs:**  
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_**I Like It – Enrique Iglesias_

_**All Around Me - Flyleaf_

_**Have a Little Faith in Me – John Hiatt_

_**Breathe Me - Sia_

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She waited on the busy sidewalk just outside the club, a flurry of snow falling around her. Loud laughter erupted from the crowd of patrons stretched out behind her, and she rolled her eyes. The club scene wasn't her thing, but he'd asked her to meet him there. Of all places, why here? The place the girl worked and the boy frequented. It was better, in her opinion, to meet somewhere neutral, but he'd insisted. They both knew the perfect couple was out of town. They'd watched them leave from the diner across the street from the apartment building, but still, what if someone recognized them here? What if somehow their presence together was leaked? The girl shook her head and cursed under her breath. This was a bad idea. They shouldn't be seen together. It was a stupid risk.

Car after car stopped at the curb, letting off the higher end club goers. She didn't understand why they came here. There were much "ritzier" clubs in the city. The girl tapped her foot and glanced at her watch. He was late. Typical. As if the fact they were meeting in public wasn't bad enough, now she was even more obvious standing out on the sidewalk by herself. Pulling out her phone, she was just about to call him when he appeared beside her.

"Hey," he said, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

She snapped her phone shut and narrowed her eyes. "You're late. You said midnight, it's twelve fifteen."

He glanced down, his dark eyes meeting hers. "I got held up."

"Did you get it?"

"Of course." He grinned. "You doubted?"

She huffed and grabbed his arm. "Come on."

Pulling him forward, she made her way inside. A drunken couple plowed into them, the girl giggling and the guy struggling to hold her up amidst his own laughter. She shoved her shoulder against them, causing the guy to careen into the wall.

"Hey! Watch it," he said.

She ignored him and weaved her way through the dancing bodies. Near the back, she found an unoccupied table and sat. Her partner lowered himself into the chair across from her, a smirk affixed to his face.

She threw her bag onto the table and glared. "What?"

"You really are a bitch, you know that?"

She couldn't hold back her grin. "Shut up."

He chuckled and looked around as if to absorb the atmosphere.

After a few moments, she sighed and leaned forward. "So?"

"So what?"

"Don't play stupid. Let me see it."

"You know, I could take that a number of ways."

She raised brow. "You wish. Now, show me."

He stared at her, cocking his head to the side and giving her a look before producing an envelope from his inner jacket pocket. "So demanding." Tossing it onto the table, he sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

She slid the envelope toward her with a couple of fingers. "Would you blame me?"

"You should trust me a little more."

She snorted. "Yeah, okay." Shaking her head, she flipped open the back flap and reached in, pulling out the stiff card. A smile stretched across her face.

"Happy now?"

"Very." She glanced up at him under her lashes, taking in the mess of hair atop his head and the chiseled line of his jaw. He really was quite attractive. Tucking the card into her bag, she leaned over the table, her elbows resting on the surface. "What do you say we celebrate?"

"I thought you didn't think it was a good idea to be seen together?"

She shrugged. "Too late now, isn't it?"

He smiled. "What do you suggest?"

She smirked and stood, tweaking her pointer finger in his direction. The corner of his mouth twitched and he rose slowly. She moved backward, her eyes never leaving his. Within moments, they were on the dance floor, other patrons gyrating around them. She stopped at the edge of the crowd, and he reached for her, his hand possessively clutching her hip. She walked her fingers up his abdomen, grasping his shirt in her fist and pulling him hard against her. He released a sound of surprise and she grinned.

"I thought you had a boyfriend," he said, as his hands grabbed at her flesh, fingers needy and hungry.

"I do," she said, fitting her hips into his and resting her lips next to his ear. "What he doesn't know . . ."

His grip tightened. "You're a bad girl." His breath flowed over her neck. Warm. Wanting.

She threw her head back and laughed just as he began to move.

.o.O.o.

It started out soft, just a tickle against his ribs. Jace kept his eyes closed as her fingers moved over his chest, the strokes long and gentle, teasing. He smiled to himself and cupped his hand around her shoulder, pulling her in as she continued to caress him. Her head shifted and then her lips were on his jaw, still light, still innocent.

He hummed as her hand slipped under his shirt, fingers warm against his skin.

"Clary," he said, moving to catch her hand in his. "What're you doing?"

She grinned against his neck. "What do you think I'm doing?" Her hand slid out of his grasp, over his abdomen, and down to the snap on his pants.

Jace grabbed her wrist and his eyes popped open. "Come on. Luke is right down the hall. What if he hears and comes in here? I'm not even supposed to be in your room."

"He's not gonna hear anything." Clary shifted until her body lay half on top of his, and he moved his hands to settle on her hips. "I can be quiet," she whispered. "Can you be quiet, Cass?"

She didn't give him a chance to answer before her mouth was on his, swallowing his gasp. He tried to stay silent, but with the way she was moving over him, it proved almost impossible.

"You're gonna have to try harder than that," she said, her hand traveling lower, lower, and lower still, until she was right where he wanted her.

His breath caught as he tried not to make a sound.

"Well, what do we have here?" she asked, a smile evident in her voice.

Jace released his breath and reached up, grabbing her hair in his fist and pulling her face to his. "You know exactly what that is." He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, tracing it with his tongue before letting go.

Clary grinned mischievously. "Oh, yes, Mr. Herondale, I know perfectly well what_ this_ is." She pressed against him a little harder and then removed her hand all together.

"Jesus, Clary," he groaned. "If you want me to be quiet, you're going to have to stop teasing."

She giggled. "As impressive as _that_ is, I was referring to this." She ran her fingers over his pocket.

He was confused for a moment, but by the time his mind registered what was actually there, Clary had already reached inside and was pulling the contents out. Jace scrambled to stop her. "Wait—Clary, wait." But he was too late.

Clary frowned, her eyes glued to the object in her hand. She propped herself up on her elbow. "Jace . . . what is this?"

He reached out to take it, but she snatched her hand away. "Clary—"

She ran her thumb over the surface of the locket and flipped it over, her brows furrowing as she studied it. Finally, realization sparked in her eyes, and Jace knew she'd figured it out. "Where did you get this?"

Jace opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His throat tightened uncomfortably around the words.

"Answer me," she demanded.

He didn't know what to say. No matter what, he still couldn't tell her about the case, about anything Luke had told him. It wasn't his story to tell. But he had to tell her something. "I can explain."

She bolted out of bed, her clothing rumpled, and her hair tangled from his hands. She held up her fist, her voice shaking when she spoke. "Luke gave this to you, didn't he?"

Jace sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. "Clary—"

She thrust her hand into his chest, stopping him from standing. "That's what took you so long after getting the bags . . . why didn't he just give it to me? What's going on?"

"Baby—"

Clary slapped his hand away when he reached for her. "Don't 'baby' me. Tell me what the hell is going on."

"I don't know—"

"You . . . you don't know? What do you mean, 'you don't know?'" She shook the fist she held the locket in. "Don't lie to me, Jace. I saw the inscription on the back. This is my mother's, isn't it?"

Jace stood and reached out for her once more. She pushed his hand away again. "Please, just let me explain."

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say." She glared up at him. "Not that I could believe you anyway."

All of the air left his lungs. "What?"

"You heard me."

"Please," he took a step forward, "I promise, I don't really know anything about that locket yet." He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. She let him. "Please, believe me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why should I?" She wrenched her hand away. "You've done nothing but lie since the moment I met you." Spinning on her heel, she moved toward the door.

Jace couldn't think, couldn't breathe. How did she know that? "Clary . . ." But she didn't turn or answer. He lunged toward her, grabbing her upper arm. "Clary, please—"

She whirled around, and Jace glimpsed a peek of the fury in her eyes before her palm connected and pain radiated across his cheek.

Jace gasped and his eyes flew open, his heart hammering in his chest. He sat, untangling the sheets from his legs and reaching up to feel the heat from Clary's slap, but his cheek was as cool as ever. Sweat lined his brow, the room was dark, and the house quiet. Just a dream. A God-damned dream. He glanced to his side and found Clary's half of the bed empty. Hurriedly, he patted his jeans pocket. The heart shaped object was encased exactly where he'd put it.

Letting out a slow, relieved breath, he lowered his head into his trembling hands. "Jesus," he whispered, the word almost a prayer as it passed his lips. He slipped a hand into his hair and pushed it away from his forehead, willing his speeding heart to decelerate.

Rising from the bed, he crossed the room to where he'd dropped their things. He reached into his jeans and pulled out the locket. Its color was dark and nondescript in the absence of light. He knelt next to his bag and opened the front zipper. Pulling out a pair of his socks, he slipped the locket inside one and folded them back together, stuffing them in the pocket and closing them inside.

After a few more deep breaths, he stood and made his way over to the door. His hands still shook slightly, but he figured they'd calm once he saw Clary. Once he could be sure. Even though his rational side knew it had been a dream, he couldn't seem to rid himself of the foreboding feeling clawing at his chest.

.o.O.o.

Clary hated the cold, but snow had always calmed her. There was just something about the slow, soft falling flakes that settled her mind. As a kid, she spent countless moments staring out the same window as white blanketed the ground. But this time, the respite didn't come. She couldn't seem to shake the feeling that something was not quite right in her world. And it wasn't the business with the stalkers. No, this was something else. Something she couldn't seem to put a name to. Why she had this inkling, she had no idea. But something about the way Luke reacted to the code on the slip of paper . . . Maybe it was something in his eyes, the way they hardened at the last second, before he raised his gaze to hers. She'd seen it, as much as he'd tried to hide it, she had. What she didn't know was why, or what. What would he be hiding? He'd always been the most honest man she'd known.

She reached out and laid her palm flat against the window. The cold from the glass seeped into her, raising goose bumps on her flesh. For a few seconds after she removed it, moisture lingered in the shape of her handprint. She watched as it faded, to be replaced by only the darkness on the other side of the pane.

A shuffling from behind caused her to turn. In the dim glow of the hallway nightlight, she caught sight of a half-asleep Simon ambling toward the kitchen. She smiled at the awkward way he stumbled down the hall, and the shambled mess of his hair. His t-shirt was half tucked into a pair of gray, flannel pajama bottoms with little Xbox remotes printed on them. So many times, he'd accompanied her and her mom out to the farm. This was as much of his past as it was hers. His father was long gone too, so Luke had become a surrogate to them both.

Clary listened as the water turned on and a glass was filled. She waited a little longer until he came back down the hall, his eyes droopy and one hand scratching at his belly.

"Boo," she said.

Simon startled, the water he held spilling down the front of his pants. "Aww, great." He looked up and frowned. "Thanks a lot."

Clary covered her mouth and giggled behind her hand. "Sorry. It was too good an opportunity to pass up."

He swiped at his pants and then dropped his hand to his side with a sigh. Starting forward he crossed the room and joined her. Once he stood in the small patch of light coming from the porch light just outside the window, Clary noticed how one side of his hair was matted down, while the other stood straight up like a peacock's tail. She snorted at the image, wondering why Jace never looked like that in the morning. He just always looked ruffled and sexy.

"What are you snorting at?" Simon asked, turning toward her, finally enabling her to see what his t-shirt said. It read: _Star light, star bright, charge thy lasers in the night. I wish I may, I wish I might, destroy a world or two tonight._

"The fact that your hair looks like a peacock mated with your head."

"What?" He reached up and ran his hand over it, groaning when he felt the disarray of spikes protruding from his scalp.

Clary chuckled again and turned back toward the window.

Simon continued to grumble. "You know, not all of us can wake up looking like we walked out of a GQ ad." He crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

She placed her hand on his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. "If you did, you wouldn't be my Simon."

He uncrossed his arms and draped one over her shoulder, pulling her in closer. "You're a cheesehead."

Clary laughed. "You're the second person to call me cheesy tonight. What's wrong with being a little mushy from time to time?"

"Nothing—if you don't mind being called a cheesehead."

She smiled and let herself relax against him. It was a different sort of calm than she received from Jace's arms, but it was still good.

Simon yawned. "Why aren't you in bed? It's two-thirty in the morning."

"I was. But then I woke up and couldn't fall back to sleep."

"Bad dreams?"

"No." She hesitated, not really wanting to spill her thoughts about Luke to him. The relationship they had was almost as close as hers, and she didn't want to make Simon suspicious for nothing. "Just . . . I don't know."

Simon hugged her closer. "Thinking about your mom?"

"A little, I guess. It's just weird being here without her. The last time we came was just before—" Clary's voice caught.

"I know," Simon said quietly. "I remember."

Clary closed her eyes at his somber tone, and knew he felt it too, the oppressive weight of something missing. It surrounded Luke's place, shifting and conforming so it filled every space. She didn't want it to feel that way here. She wanted it to be the carefree, happy place it once was, but maybe it could never be that again.

Simon yawned once more and Clary pulled away. "You should get back to bed. You're gonna break your jaw yawning like that."

He grimaced and rubbed his face. "Remember that time in eighth grade when I dislocated it when I yawned?"

Clary laughed. "Yes. And you couldn't eat or drink anything unless it was through a straw for three days."

"Hell, that was horrible. I couldn't stand those blended concoctions my mom made. I was freaking starving the whole time."

Clary giggled again and slapped his arm. "Go to bed. I mean it."

He turned and studied her carefully. "You gonna be okay?" His dark eyes bored into hers, and she saw the concern evident in them.

Mustering up all the sincerity she could, she smiled. "Absolutely. I'll probably head up in a minute anyway."

"Okay." He bumped her hip with his and started toward the stairs. "Catch you later, cheesehead."

"Don't wet yourself again, gamer geek."

"Oh, way to be original."

She shook her head and grinned. "'Night, Si."

"'Night, Clary."

She turned back to the window, noticing the decrease in the snowfall as the stairs creaked under Simon's feet. Glancing around the room, she saw a sliver of light coming from Luke's office across the way. Clary furrowed her brows and crossed to it, pushing against the door with her fingers and hearing it groan with the movement. A small desk lamp had been left on, the room looking as untidy as usual.

She moved over to the desk, her eye catching a large, leather-bound scrapbook lying on top of an array of papers. Curiously, she turned it toward her, squinting at the engraving on the cover. It was written in a different language—one she didn't know. She slid her finger along the bottom, and pulled it away instantly as the thick paper sliced into her flesh. A drop of red blood welled to the surface. She stuck her finger in her mouth and looked around the room, trying to remember where Luke kept the first aid kit. A memory flashed through her mind of Luke sitting in the desk chair, holding her eight-year-old crying body and rummaging through the top drawer for a band-Aid.

Walking around the desk, she sat in the swivel chair and pulled open the top drawer. Dozens of pens, pencils, paperclips, and sticky note pads littered the bottom. Clary pawed through until she found a box of bandages tucked in the back. With her finger still in her mouth, she pulled it out and set it on the desk, scooting her chair closer. The wheels squeaked under her weight. She popped open the box, pausing when she didn't find band-aids, but several folded up pieces of paper instead.

Frowning, Clary removed her finger from her mouth, inspected it to see if it was done bleeding, and focused her attention on the box. She looked up toward the door, feeling like she shouldn't be snooping in Luke's stuff, but her curiosity got the best of her and she pulled one out. Unfolding it carefully, she positioned it under the lamp to read the words scrawled over the white. A gasp escaped her lips when she read the message.

_Dear Luke,_

_I can't leave. I know I said I would, but I can't. It's too risky. Please don't press it. He already knows too much. I can't put the children in any more danger. Please understand._

_Jocelyn_

The note fell from Clary's fingers onto the smooth wood of the desktop. Her stomach clenched into a tight knot and she felt sick. Blood rushed to her face and her head pounded. Closing her eyes, she took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm the thoughts racing through her mind. Her mother and Luke.

It couldn't be true. Her mother had been one of the most upstanding women Clary knew. She always did the right thing. She never would have– But according to this note, she had. Maybe Clary had read it wrong. She nodded. Yes, that was it. Maybe it didn't mean that at all.

Fumbling for the box, Clary pulled out the rest of the notes, reading them one by one, her heart sinking further and further as she read. Each note conveyed more and more of this supposed relationship between her mother and Luke. Clary's heart raced and she felt like throwing up. After the last was read, she braced herself against the desk, closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her mouth, trying to calm the churning in her stomach. Once she had it semi-under control, she gathered the notes with shaky hands and shoved them back into the box and then the drawer.

For all those years, she'd never known, never even suspected. How had they hidden it so well? She'd always just assumed they were friends, like her and Simon, not that they'd been– Nausea rolled in her stomach and anger pooled in her chest.

Lies.

All of it.

Every time they showed up at the farm. Every phone call. Every smile, touch, laugh. It was all something else. Something more. What else had they lied about? What else didn't she know? Clary's mind spun with possibilities, her head screaming for answers. She needed to get out of there, out of Luke's office, out of his house. Maybe then she could think clearly. Maybe then she could make sense of this. Drawing in a trembling breath, she knew just the place to go.

She crossed the room quickly, but when she reached the door, she paused and turned back. The leather scrapbook stared out at her. An overwhelming desire came over her to look through it. To face the lies held inside, to see if she could spot them where she couldn't before. Walking back to the desk, she swiped the book from the surface and exited the office into the living room. She didn't stop until she reached the coat rack and slipped on her jacket and shoes. Turning on her heel, she moved to the front door, wrenched it open, and with the thick scrapbook tucked under her arm, stole out into the frigid night.

.o.O.o.

Jace exited Clary's bedroom at the exact moment Simon came out of the bathroom across the hall. Just before Simon turned out the light, Jace's eyes registered a large wet stain on the front of his pants.

He raised his brow. "Did you forget you had to pull those down first?"

Simon narrowed his eyes and turned out the lights, plunging them both into darkness. "Perhaps I should be more disturbed that you were looking to begin with."

"You're not the first male to wish I was into him, but I'm afraid you're just going to have to deal." Jace paused. "You know, they make adult diapers for incontinence. You should look into it."

"Not that I need to explain myself to you, but your girlfriend did this."

Jace raised a brow. "She peed on your pants?"

"No, jackass. She made me spill water all over myself."

"Remind me to congratulate her later."

Simon huffed. "Whatever. I'm going to bed."

Jace watched his shadowy form retreat down the hallway, and couldn't hold back the chuckle when Simon ran into the door, cursing at himself before twisting the handle and disappearing inside. Shaking his head, Jace continued to the staircase, climbing down as quickly as he could without making any noise.

The ground floor was silent, too silent. He strolled into the kitchen, noticing a faint glow emanating through the window just above the sink. Peering out, he spotted the origin. The barn. She was in the loft.

Jace hurried back up to Clary's room, slipped on his shoes and pushed his arms through the sleeves of his hooded sweatshirt. Within moments, he was down the stairs and out the front door, his feet crunching on the newly fallen snow. The barn doors hung open a crack and he pushed them further, a gust of wintery wind swirling inside. He closed it behind him, his eyes on the lit loft at the back of the space.

When he reached the bottom of the ladder, a soft melody floated down from above. He climbed slowly, not stopping until he was at the top. Clary sat on the sofa, her body curved over a large book, and a space heater at her feet. The music came from an old CD player in the corner.

He stepped out onto the loft floor and started toward her, freezing in his place when he heard her sniffle. She was crying.

"Clary," he called.

Her head whipped up and her hands swiped briskly across her face, trying to hide her tears. "Hey. What are you doing up?" Her voice trembled.

Jace swallowed. "I woke up and you weren't there." He moved cautiously across the floor, and she closed the book, setting it on the coffee table in front of her. "I saw the lights through the kitchen window."

"Oh."

He shoved his hands in his pockets and continued over to the couch. She didn't look up at him as he approached. "Clary?"

Her shoulders shook with restraint, and he knew she was trying to hold back. What he didn't know was why.

"Clary?" he repeated.

This time, she lowered her face to her hands, a quiet sob escaping from her throat. Jace pulled his hands from his pockets and sat next to her, wanting badly to pull her to him, but not knowing if she would appreciate the gesture or not. Finally, after a few moments, he decided he didn't care. Reaching out, he wrapped her in his arms. She came willingly, burying her face into his sweatshirt.

"What's wrong?"

She gestured to the leather book on the table and said two words, "My mom."

Jace got it then. She missed her mother. "Oh. It's hard for you here."

Clary shook her head and pulled away abruptly, standing in front of him. The look on her face was not the one he expected. Yes, it was streaked with tears, but her expression was not one of sadness or grief. It was anger. Hard, cold anger. A nervous pit grew in his stomach.

"No. It's not that." She started to pace back and forth, her hands wiping furiously at the tears trailing over her cheeks, like her anger was at them for daring to fall in the first place. "God! I'm stupid. _Stupid_."

Jace watched her with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

She stopped and glared, raising her hand to point in the direction of the book. "That is a bunch of lies."

"What?"

"Lies!" Clary threw her hands in the air. "And I should have known. I should have sensed something. It's not like it wasn't written all over their faces."

Jace stood and grabbed Clary by the shoulders, making her look at him. "Jesus, Clary. Would you tell me what the hell is going on?"

"My mother. Luke," she spat their names. "They lied. For all those years, they lied."

"About what?"

"Everything!" She broke free and bent to open the book. The first page she turned to showed a smiling Luke and a woman who looked a lot like Clary. Jace assumed it was her mother, Jocelyn. "Look at them. Don't they look cozy? The perfect picture of happiness, right? Of friendship?"

Jace glanced at the photo. "I guess . . ."

"Wrong! They were never friends. They were together."

"You mean . . . ?"

"Yes." She nodded, the fury in her eyes still shining. "They were in love." She looked up, meeting Jace's gaze. "She was gonna leave my dad for him."

"How do you know that?"

"I found letters. A whole thing of letters from my mom to Luke. I just . . ." She plopped down on the couch, her face slack with defeat, the anger fizzling like a spent firework. "I just don't understand."

Jace knelt down in front of her. "Don't understand what?"

"How they could do this." She sniffed. "How my mother could cheat on my dad. How Luke could ask her to leave. How . . . how they could lie about it." She lifted her gaze to his, and he saw the beginnings of tears shining in them again. "Why did they lie?"

Jace felt his guilt growing as she stared at him, begging him for answers he couldn't give. Asking him why they'd lied, when that's all he'd been doing from the beginning. He'd gotten the impression that Luke and Jocelyn's relationship had been anything but platonic from the things Luke had told him that night. But he'd never actually come out and admitted it. He'd really just focused on telling Jace where to find the box, and how to use the numbers from the code and the locket to open it.

He reached up and brushed back the hair hanging in her face. "People lie, Spitfire." He nearly choked on the words.

"But why? I don't get it. Yes, I would have been upset—I was just a kid. But lying . . . I—I hate lying."

Jace swiped his thumbs over her cheeks, wishing the heaviness in his chest would go away. "Sometimes we have to." His eyes met hers and he hoped she was listening, hoped she'd remember his words. "Sometimes it's the only thing we can do to protect the people we love."

"Do you really believe that? You can't seriously think it's okay."

"I didn't say I thought it was okay, I said sometimes we don't have a choice."

"We always have a choice." She broke away and stared at the wall. "Always."

Jace bowed his head and closed his eyes briefly, trying to swallow back the shame attempting to claw its way out. Clary looked back at him and he felt her stare, the blame and disgrace eating a hole through his conscience. He couldn't take her looking at him. Not for comfort or solace or explanation. He had none to give. He was just as bad—worse—than her mother and Luke. Although he'd never meant for any of this to happen, never meant to fall for her, to take things this far, he had. And there was no one to blame, no one to push the guilt onto. It was all him, and it was him who would have to live with it.

"The list of people I can trust in my life just keeps getting smaller and smaller," she said quietly. "The ones I thought I could trust, I can't." Her eyes moved from one of his to the other. Back and forth as if they were searching him. He felt them asking, begging for him to take the hurt away. And he couldn't. He was the last person who could. "And the ones I never would have dreamt I could, prove to be the ones I can."

He felt sick. Sick and disgusted and . . . wretched. She was talking about him. She trusted him. _Him._ "Nobody's perfect, Clary." His voice barely registered. "Maybe it's not as bad as you think. Maybe she didn't actually cheat yet. And if she did, you know as well as I do that you can't help who you fall in love with."

"I know that." She glanced up at him. "I know that very well."

"And everybody lies."

"Not everybody," she said quietly, standing as a new song started, and reached out to him. "Come here."

Jace breathed a few times before doing as she asked. When he stood, he looked down, and even though he towered over her, he suddenly felt very small. Very small and very insignificant. She looked at him like he was everything, like he was the picture of perfection, when in actuality, he was nothing. Nothing but the thing she despised most. A liar. A fraud.

Clary reached out and unzipped the front of his sweatshirt, placing her hand against him. Her warmth seeped through his t-shirt and into his skin. He didn't move, he barely breathed.

"Do you know what I believe?" she whispered, stepping closer to him, her hand running over his chest.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, his stomach a knot of guilt and his heart thudding hard against his ribs.

"I believe that when you really love someone," her other hand took his, her fingers gliding softly over his knuckles before joining them together, "when you meet that one person," she stretched up, and touched her forehead to his temple, "you don't lie because there's nothing you want to keep from them. You protect each other by telling the truth."

Oh, how he wished it were that simple. "That's a fairytale, Clary." Jace tried to swallow, but couldn't. "Real life doesn't work that way."

"It doesn't have to be," she said. "That's how I love you. I would never lie to you."

"Clary . . ." His voice caught, and he could feel her wet lashes against his cheek. He didn't deserve her love. He didn't deserve _her_. But she gave herself to him anyway. For some reason, she believed him worthy.

"I can't help it," she whispered. "That's how I feel."

"God, I love you." He reached up to hold her face, his hands trembling once more. "Promise me you'll remember . . . no matter what happens. _No matter what_. Please. Remember that."

"Jace . . .?"

"Please, Clary." He brought her face to his, resting his forehead on hers. He needed her to say it, to remember it. Because this was all he had that was real. The only part of himself he could give her that wasn't a lie. "Please, just promise."

"Okay." Clary leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his waist and her hands fisting in the back of his shirt. Her lips slid across his cheek as she lowered herself down and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. "I promise."

Jace's breath fell from him in a shutter, his arms pulling her in and holding her tightly against him. He dropped his face, his mouth touching the top of her head, his eyes clenched shut. After a few moments, he realized they were moving, slowly swaying while clutching each other in the middle of the loft.

"Jace?" she asked after a bit.

"Hmm," was all he could manage.

"You know we're different, right? Different than them? We don't need secrets. We don't need to protect each other with lies." Her lips brushed his neck, lightly, barely even a whisper. "Trust in us, because we're gonna prove all your theories wrong."

Pain sliced through Jace's chest, making him feel as if he'd been stabbed in the heart. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, her hair tickling his nose and the scent of her filling him, making the ache worse. Heaviness settled, crushing him beneath its immense weight. It was too much. The guilt. The fear. Her. She was too much, and he was going to break. And he did, in French no less, confessions spilling from his mouth, and him unable to stop them. "_Dieu . . ._ _Je suis desolé, tellement desolé. Tu mérites plus que ça. Beaucoup plus que ça... qu'un menteur."_

"Jace, what—"

But he cut her off, needing to get it out. Needing her to know, even if she didn't understand a word he said. He trailed his hands down her arms and then across her back, his fingers curling into her as if they were strong enough to hold her there forever. God, he wished they were. "_Je voudrait tout te raconter, tu ne peux pas imaginer comment j'y tiens . . . Tu mérites la verité, et je te la dirais si je pouvais. Je t'offrirais tout. Tout."_ His voice lowered to a whisper. "_Je veux tout t'offrir."_

"I don't know what you're saying," she said, her breath washing over his skin.

Reaching down, he took her face gently between his hands, holding her so carefully, so lightly, as if she were spun out of glass. "I know," he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers, barely touching her before repeating, "I know."

Her lips parted, accepting his as they always did. He kept it slow, his kisses whispering against hers, telling all the secrets he couldn't. His fingers ghosted over her cheeks, feeling the innocence and trust sparking off from her skin. His heart faltered and broke a thousand times, but he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop until she told him to.

But she wouldn't tell him to stop tonight. With her mouth still on his, she clutched the sides of his shirt in her hands, walking backward toward the couch. When her knees hit the cushions, she broke away, her eyes meeting his. In them, he saw everything. Everything he wanted, and everything he feared. She reached up, trailing her fingers over his jaw, her touch so light he barely felt it. Her thumb brushed his mouth, and he closed his eyes, his breath leaving him in a rush.

No words passed between them as she lowered her hands to his, pulling him down next to her. She continued to touch him, lightly caressing his cheeks, forehead, and chin. Almost as if she were memorizing him. Like maybe she felt the inevitability of the situation pressing in on her too. He returned the gesture, feeling the smoothness of her skin under his fingertips. She closed her eyes, and he leaned in. And when their lips met, her breath caught, just like the first time they'd kissed. It always felt like the first time.

Her hand slid around to the back of his head, her nails scraping his scalp, and pulled him forward. The cushions creaked under them as he leaned into her. She twisted, her chest pressing up against his, her grip tightening and her mouth opening. Her taste filled him, intoxicating him, as it always did. Warm and wet and her. He let her pull him down, his shirt captured in her fists, until he lay on top of her, still kissing, still touching. And as they continued, he couldn't help one thought from bombarding his mind. A thought that settled like a storm over his head, biding its time until it unleashed its downpour. He tried to push it away, to enjoy her mouth and her hands and her body, but it wouldn't leave. Wouldn't dissipate and let them exist in peace. It rumbled and sparked, begging a response to the one question he couldn't answer, the one he didn't want to face, the one he knew would tear him apart and leave him for dead: How would it feel when it was the last time?

.o.O.o.

The irritating blast of the alarm blared next to the bed. Hodge opened one eye carefully, squinting at the time illuminated on the face. Six thirty-five. He groaned and rolled over onto his back, blinking up at the ceiling. It was Saturday. Why on God's green earth did he need to go into the office on a Saturday? Oh, that was right, the young Lightwood boy needed to meet with him about the Morgenstern case, and he had a load of paperwork to finish.

He sighed and rolled out of bed, yawning and scratching his head on the way to the bathroom. On his way past, he spotted something sparkling white through the center crack in the curtains. He stopped abruptly and jerked them open. Sunlight filled the room and he had to cover his eyes for a few moments until they adjusted to the brightness. Once he finally removed his hand, his gaze registered what he was seeing.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said to himself. "Snow in October?" Shaking his head, he retreated into the adjoining bathroom. "Damn global warming."

Thirty-five minutes later, Hodge stood in the middle of his kitchen, fully dressed and sipping a cup of coffee. The paperboy was late. He'd checked the front steps and the bushes next to them when he'd finished his shower, but it was nowhere. Just because it snowed a little did not give them the right to be tardy. He still had to be to work on time, why didn't the paperboy?

He'd just finished his first cup and considered pouring another, when his doorbell rang. Hodge frowned. Odd. They'd never rung the bell before.

On the way out of the kitchen, he dropped his coffee cup in the sink and grabbed his briefcase. He figured he could read the paper on the way to the office. It had been a while since he'd worked on a Saturday. He actually looked forward to being alone in the building. No one would be there to interrupt him, or to give him more work. Sounded delightful.

He slipped his arms through his coat and placed his hat on his head. When he opened the door, he expected to find the paper on the top step, but that wasn't what he found at all.

He froze, his hand still on the doorknob, taking in the sight before him. "What are you doing here?"

The boy looked up, his golden eyes tired, and hair in disarray. He appeared as if he hadn't slept in days, his clothes wrinkled and an air of exhaustion clung to him. "I didn't know where else to go."

Hodge studied him. He'd never seen Jace look so troubled, so . . . unhinged. "I'm not in charge of your case anymore. You should really talk to Maryse."

"This isn't about the case." He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze shifting from side to side as if he were looking for someone, but the immediate surroundings were empty. Jace glanced back up at Hodge. "I screwed up and . . . and I don't know what to do."

Hodge—startled by the boy's fragile demeanor, which was not at all like the cocky facade he usually put forward—stepped back, opening the door wider and gesturing for Jace to enter. "You'd better come in. Just let me call Alec and postpone our meeting."

Jace nodded and walked forward, his shoulders hunched, defeat radiating off from him in waves. He ducked through the door and into the hallway, a draft of frigid air following him inside. Hodge took one last look around and sighed, closing the door behind him.

* * *

_Yes, a cliffy. Y'all know to expect this from me by now. And as I've told you before, these types of stories tend to have cliffy's at the end of chapters. Well, we're getting there guys. I'm estimating about 5-6 chapters left. This could change, but as I see it right now, that sounds about right. I hope you've enjoyed the ride and these silly kids. I know I have appreciated hearing your thoughts about this story so much. It is such a highlight to my day when your comments hit my inbox! :)_

_As you can see...the angst is rolling in. Jace is breaking under his guilt and Clary is becoming aware that things in her life are not quite what they seem to be. This is all leading the the end (of the story). I hope you're ready...  
_

_As always, a huge thank you to LLWB for tackling this beast. I could not post this with such confidence if it weren't for you and your mad skills. *muah* _

_And to niniadepapa, I adore you for allowing my need to make DJ speak so many languages. You rock my socks!_

_(And just because I received a comment on this, I need to point out that DJ speaks Parisian French, not Canadian French. It is my understanding that these two are pretty different. The French is correct for Parisian French)._

_A note on the French. I did not include the translation for a reason. 1. DJ pretty much tells you in his thoughts what he's doing. He's confessing. He's purging himself of things he wants to say to her but can't. And yeah, he knows she doesn't understand. But he needs to do it anyway. Needs to say the words. 2. I thought I'd give you a little taste of what Spitfire 'hears'. She has no idea what he says when he speaks French, so...neither do we (unless you are a French speaker!).  
_

_I'll see y'all in 2 weeks. Be good, my lovelies._

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_


	25. Beautifully Broken

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**_24. Beautifully Broken_**

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Just a Little Girl – Trading Yesterday_

_**Evil Angel – Breaking Benjamin_

_**Hey Now - Augustana_

_**With Me – Sum 41(Mixpod does not have a good version of this song...Please Youtube it-it's so good, and fits Jace's mood/thoughts so well)  
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It was cold. Cold and wet.

Clary shivered and swiped a hand over her face, clearing away the freezing drops of water trailing over her cheeks. Through the haze of sleep, she wondered why her face was wet. Was she crying again? Holy hell, she must be PMSing because she never got that emotional. Drip, drip, drip. Three more chilly drops fell to her cheek, forehead, and eyelid. She wiped her face again and threw her arm over her eyes. _There, that should solve the problem_, she thought to herself.

She sighed and tried to fall blissfully back to sleep, when a large plop of freezing wetness landed on her chin and slid down her neck, disappearing under her shirt. "Ahh!" she screeched, and bolted up, her eyes flying open, the bright morning sun making them water.

Everything appeared blurry and out of focus. Clary rubbed her eyes, trying to clear her vision. When she was finally able to see, she spied a goofy-faced Simon, grinning at her like a fool. It took her a moment to realize she was still in the loft, and he stood before her, dressed in a heavy coat, boots, stocking cap. In his hand, he held a large, badly formed snowball.

"Good morning, sunshine!" he exclaimed just before pelting her with the cold, mushy mess.

Freezing slush dripped down her shirt and plopped onto the floor. She looked up and narrowed her eyes. "Simon! I'm gonna kill you!" She stood, swiping the leftover bits from her clothing and pulling on her jacket.

"Gotta catch me first!" He rushed away from her and started down the stairs, slipping twice before reaching the bottom.

Clary chased after him, thrusting her hands through her gloves and taking the ladder two rungs at a time. Simon laughed and bolted through the barn doors, faster than Clary with his long-legged stride, but clumsier too. Just as he reached the snowy drive, he slipped and fell onto his face. Clary took the opportunity to scoop a bunch of snow in her hand, form it into a ball and throw it expertly, hitting Simon on the side of the head.

"Ooof!" he said when Clary jumped on his back, shoveling handfuls of snow down the back of his coat. "Uncle! Uncle!" he cried through laughter.

Clary slid off his back and lay on the ground next to him. He hurriedly shook all of the snow from between his clothing and his body, and plopped down beside her, his breathing ragged. Clary glanced around at the white frosted scenery, remembering the last time she'd been there in the winter. A pang of sadness shot through her when she recalled what she'd found out the night before. Before she could say anything, her eyes fell on Luke's truck in the driveway, and she noticed something wasn't quite right. She sat up, furrowing her brows in its direction, when it finally dawned on her.

"Where's the car?" she asked.

Simon turned in the direction where the car had been parked and shrugged. "I don't know. Jace took it."

Clary frowned and glanced back at him. "What?" She'd noticed he wasn't there when she woke, but figured he'd just gone in the house to use the restroom or get breakfast.

Simon shrugged. "He was gone before I woke up. Isabelle said he left."

"Where did he go?"

"How should I know? He's your boyfriend not mine—not that I'd have a boyfriend, but if I did, he wouldn't be my first choice. No offense."

Swiping the snow off her legs, Clary rolled her eyes and stood, reaching down to help Simon up. He took her hand, and she heaved on it, pulling him onto his feet. Frozen patches clung to his jeans and she helped him wipe them off. Together, they walked back to the house, the winter covering already melting in the morning sun. Drops from icicles on the eaves dripped, and piles of grey slush plopped down from branches.

Once they entered the house, they removed their wet coats and boots, and piled them up on the radiator near the door. Clary's jeans were still a little wet, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Simon, on the other hand, was pretty much soaked, so he stole upstairs to warm up in the shower and change.

Isabelle's loud laughter and the clattering of dishes came from the kitchen. Clary considered following Simon's retreat just so she didn't have to see Luke, but she really wanted to know where Jace had gone. She took in and released a breath, pulling back her shoulders before continuing forward. She crossed the living room, taking in the mess of blankets still lying on the floor in front of the woodstove from the night before.

Clary paused when she reached the doorway. Isabelle sat at the table, her dark hair pulled up into a messy bun at the back of her head, and a multitude of breakfast foods piled in front of her. Luke had always made way too much for breakfast for as long as Clary could remember.

"So what other embarrassing ammunition can you give me?" Isabelle was asking when Clary stepped into the room.

"Well—" Luke turned from the counter, a dishtowel hanging from his shoulder and a glass in his hand. His eyes widened and a large smile overtook his face when he saw Clary. "Oh, I didn't hear you come in. Good morning, Clary."

She nodded, not knowing if she could speak without saying all the things filling her mind. Luke's eyes clouded with confusion. Clary was sure her frosty demeanor would pique some questions from him, but now, in front of Isabelle, was not the time to discuss this. Instead, she turned to Izzy. "Where's Jace?"

Isabelle glanced up, a lock of hair falling into her eyes. She blew it away and popped a grape into her mouth. "He had a few things to take care of." She shrugged and went back to eating. "He said he'd be back soon."

Clary frowned. "You don't know where he went?"

"What do I look like? His mother?" Her eyes flickered back up to Clary's, and Clary saw a glint flash through them. "I don't make it a point to know what he's doing at every second of every day."

For some reason, Clary didn't believe her. There was just something in that flash that said more than Isabelle meant it to. But why would she keep it from her?

Simon sauntered into the room, his clothing now dry, but his hair a riotous mess. "Yes, I am here. You can all continue on to live another day now that I'm present."

"Did you even comb that?" Clary gestured to his head.

Simon ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. "No. Didn't you hear? Messy hair is all the rage nowadays."

"Yeah, but that's intentionally messy, not actually messy."

"This was intentional."

She grinned and shook her head, sliding into a seat across from Isabelle. Simon sat between them both and dug in, piling his plate high with fruit and toast.

"Did you want coffee?" Luke asked both of them.

Clary refused, but Simon nodded enthusiastically. Luke poured him a cup and joined the three of them at the table. Clary kept her eyes on her plate, using the tines of her fork to roll a few grapes around. The uneasiness she felt around Luke was stifling. She wanted to know what had actually happened between him and her mother. She wanted to know why they'd hidden it and what those letters meant. Why did her mother say it was too dangerous? What happened? But she couldn't ask him, could she? Could she just blurt it out in front of everyone? No, she couldn't do that. As much as she wanted to know, she couldn't out Luke in front of Simon. It wouldn't be fair—especially if she were wrong.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She needed a moment to breathe, to consider how she was going to handle this new knowledge.

"I need some air," Clary said, pushing her chair back, the legs scraping against the wooden floor below.

Luke's eyes followed her as she stood, but she couldn't meet them. "Everything okay?" he asked.

In a weak moment of truth, she shook her head slightly and turned from the room. She hurried back through the living room and into the front hall, slipped on her shoes, and threw on her coat. The cold air smacked her in the face the moment she stepped onto the porch. Sunshine reflected off the glittering white snow, causing Clary to narrow her eyes in response. She closed them after a few seconds and lifted her face to the sky, breathing in the fresh air.

Behind her, the door opened and a blast of warmth hit her back. When it closed, the thud of heavy boots sounded, and she knew instantly it was Luke. Clary sighed and turned toward him. He stood just before her, his form framed in the doorway. As she looked at him, memories flashed through her mind of all the times she'd been there before. Of how often he'd been more of a father to her than her own father. Of how he'd made her mother smile and laugh when she hardly did so at home. Of how he'd been the one to teach her to ride a bike and throw a baseball. And of how it was always with him, and in this place, that she'd truly felt like she was home.

Clary stared into his face, seeing in it the man she'd always thought she'd known and realizing she really knew nothing at all. She swallowed against the fear rising in her throat. As much as she wished she didn't know, that she could go back to when her memories were the only truth there was, she had to know. Meeting his familiar dark eyes, she found the courage.

"Tell me," she said, her voice surprisingly steady for how afraid she felt.

Luke let out a breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. To Clary's shock, he didn't look the least bit surprised or confused by her demand. "Tell you what?"

"Tell me about you and my mom."

.o.O.o.

Jace had never been inside Hodge's house. He'd always known where it was—everyone he'd worked under, or with, was listed in the Agency directory, but he'd never had a reason to visit. Not that his mother would have allowed him to in the first place.

Hodge wasn't a "real" Agent. He'd gone through the Academy, but failed his field test three times. In most cases, a trainee would be thrown out after that. However, the Agency saw that he had potential, with his abundant knowledge of the inner workings of the government and in the law, so they'd kept him as a consultant. But he'd never been on a mission, nor would he ever.

In Celine Herondale's eyes, Hodge Starkweather wasn't worth the time or energy. She'd lobbied several times to have his privileges stripped, and him removed from the Agency. So far, she'd been unsuccessful. For this, Jace was thankful. Hodge had always been kind to him, and had always worked in Jace's favor when he'd had run-ins with his mother throughout his first and second years as a trainee.

Hodge shoved the door shut, jerking up on the handle and wiggling it as the warped wood of the frame protested. Once he had it closed, he turned to Jace and gestured for him to continue down the hall.

Jace moved forward, his eyes raking over the grungy, peeling wallpaper lining the narrow passage. The corridor opened to a small, dimly-lit living area. He swallowed as his gaze fell over the shabby, yellow chair and floral-patterned couch situated around a scratched-up coffee table. It reminded him that not everyone he knew was as fortunate as himself.

"Have a seat," Hodge said. "Do you want anything? Coffee?"

Jace shook his head and moved to the chair and sat, his eyes glued to his shoes. Because he wasn't looking, he didn't see, but heard Hodge approach and sit on the couch across from him. He tried to find the words to say what he needed to say, but nothing came to him. Everything he thought of sounded so juvenile to his ears.

"What's going on, Agent?"

"Don't call me that," Jace whispered, and finally raised his gaze to meet Hodge's confused one. "Not right now. I can't . . ." He drew in a shaky breath, knowing how weak he sounded and hating it. This wasn't like him and he knew Hodge knew it. Jace had never deliberately shown this vulnerability to anyone but Clary before, but he couldn't help it. He had nothing left. Only this. "Can I just . . . can I just be Jace? I can't be anything else right now."

Hodge frowned, worry lines stretching across his forehead. "Okay, Jace. What's going on?"

Jace inhaled sharply and shot out his seat, unable to think unless he was moving. His hands immediately found their way into his hair as he paced. "I don't know." He shook his head. "God. I don't know."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"Because you know the beginning, Hodge," Jace said, his hands falling exasperatedly to his sides.

"I thought you said this wasn't about the case?"

"It's not—not exactly. It's . . ." Jace scratched at his scalp and chewed on the inside of his lower lip, not knowing exactly how much he should spill. He must have bitten down a little too hard because the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

"It's what?"

"It's not about the case specifically, but it affects it . . ." He paused. "I—I've taken it too far. I—she—she . . ."

Hodge raised his brows in realization. "The girl's developed feelings for you," he said knowingly and stood, shaking his head. "This was expected for this case. The situation almost called for something like this to happen. You three were thrust into her life, and with how closely you're working with her, it's really not a surprise. You've done nothing wrong."

"That's not what I was going to say," Jace said quietly, his eyes studying the pattern in the carpet once more. "It's not her . . . it's me."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand. What's—oh." Hodge stopped and looked at Jace, his head tilted to the side, studying him carefully. "You care about her."

Jace shook his head and started pacing again. "At the Academy, we're taught right from the beginning that our feelings were to be left aside. That as an Agent, we had to be strong, to show no emotion."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean we have no feelings. It just means we have to be good at hiding them."

Jace stopped and met Hodge's gaze, knowing his own pleaded pathetically. "Well, from the last meeting we had with my mother and the Director, you know I'm not as good at that as I should be."

"As long as the subject doesn't pick up on—"

Jace averted his eyes quickly, lowering them to the floor.

Hodge broke off and continued quietly. "Oh, I see."

"I tried. God, I tried." He thrust his hand back into his hair and fisted it so tight pain spiked through his scalp. "I just . . . I couldn't . . . and now . . . now everything is a mess."

"How bad is it?"

All Jace could do was look up and drop his hand to his side. He let out a slow breath and closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again.

"I love her." Jace's throat tightened around the words. It was one thing to admit them to Clary, or to Isabelle and Alec, but to say them to someone else in the Agency, someone who could go to his superiors and rat him out, was something else entirely. But the point had come where Jace just didn't care anymore. The only thing he knew was the struggle he had to endure every single day living with the untruths. "I love her," he repeated, "so much it physically hurts to keep telling these lies. Every time I have to tell another, I feel like I'm punching myself in the gut. I can't stand the sight of my own reflection anymore. And when she looks at me . . . I can see that she believes me . . . and I just . . ." He shook his head and swallowed, hard. "She doesn't deserve this. None of it. I should have been stronger. I should have resisted. I should have . . ." He looked up at the ceiling. "I should have done a lot of things differently. But I didn't and now I'm here. I'm here and I can't get out."

Hodge stood and stepped around the coffee table separating the two of them from each other. When he stood in front of Jace, he placed his hands on Jace's shoulders and met his gaze. "You can't beat yourself up over this. It happens. Sometimes even to the best Agents. When we train, we're told we must separate ourselves from our cases, that we cannot become emotionally invested. But sometimes, it's just not possible. We're only human."

Jace's legs gave out underneath him and he slumped into the chair. "We're not trained to be human. We're taught to block all emotion, to put the job above everything else. That's the only thing I've heard my entire life. It's all I know. So I just don't understand how this happened."

"That doesn't negate the fact that we still _are _human. _You're_ human, Jace." Hodge sat on the coffee table, their knees almost touching.

Jace lowered his face to his hands. "What do I do now?"

"Your job."

He looked up, his mouth dropping open and his brows pulling together.

Hodge shook his head. "I know it seems impossible, but you must. If you care about—if you love—this girl as much as you say you do, then you owe it to her to finish what you've started."

"You don't understand how hard it is, how _much_ I hate myself every day." Jace shook his head. "I never thought it would be like this. That I could feel like this. I know I was chosen for this assignment because of my ability to focus and to get into a girl's pants without caring how I left her." Jace glanced up. "Don't even try to deny it."

"I wasn't going to."

Jace frowned. He'd mentioned the same scenario before, but no one would admit it was a valid reason for him being chosen. "That makes me feel a lot better. Thanks." He glanced up. "You were supposed to deny it and protect my fragile ego."

Hodge lifted his hands then dropped them to his lap. "You said you were tired of the lies, so I'm not going to feed you any more." He paused. "Besides, I'm not sure there's anything 'fragile' about your ego."

Jace huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"A lot of research went into the type of person that would make the biggest impression on Miss Morgenstern. You happened to fit the bill. And yes, you seemed to have no problem hitting on anything in a skirt. The Agency felt that you would get the job done. But it is true that you were chosen for your skill first and foremost."

"I know I'm good, Hodge." Jace fell back into the chair and sighed. "That was never a question."

"Ah, there you are." Hodge chuckled and reached out to pat Jace's knee before standing. "I knew you were still in there somewhere."

Jace scowled up at him, an uncomfortable twinge reverberating through his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It just means that I'm glad to see this experience hasn't changed you. In the times that something like this has happened before, it seems the Agent always goes off the deep end, trying to maintain a real relationship and ruining themselves in the process. It's a relief to see you haven't done that. Feelings come and go, but you've got a good head on your shoulders. Once this is all over, you'll be fine. It'll be like none of this ever happened."

Jace blinked, oddly offended by the one thing Hodge considered a compliment. Everything about the way Jace thought, spoke, and acted had been affected by this case. It wasn't just Clary, but the way she made him feel. About himself, about love, about life. He had been irreversibly changed. It was as if he could finally see, could finally breathe. It was _that_ he didn't want to lose. He didn't give a damn anymore about being the best Agent at the Agency. At one time, that had been everything to him. His reputation had been the one thing he'd prided himself on time and time again. But now, all of that seemed insignificant.

Suddenly, Jace didn't feel so confident in sharing anymore. Sure, he'd told Hodge about his feelings, but he'd never admitted to the nature of his relationship with Clary. And now he was even more determined to keep that to himself. If Hodge, of all the people who knew him, couldn't see Jace any differently than they always had, how could he be trusted to keep it a secret? An extremely important and damaging secret.

"Uh . . ." Jace swallowed and looked away, pausing for a moment before standing. "I should get going."

Hodge stepped back, confusion flashing across his face. "Oh, okay. Well, was that all you needed?"

"Yeah." Jace moved quickly back down the hallway. "I just needed to put everything back into perspective."

"And now you have?"

"I think so, yeah."

Jace reached out to grab the doorknob when he felt a hand grip his shoulder. He froze, his fingers barely brushing the rounded, metal surface.

"This case is important. For the Agency, for Clary herself, and most especially for you. This is a huge opportunity for someone in your position."

"I know." The words lodged in his throat.

"You're so close to finishing this out. Don't let your feelings cloud your focus now."

Jace closed his eyes and nodded, twisting the knob and opening the door. A cold blast of air hit his face and he opened his lids, squinting against the harsh light.

As he made his way down the steps, he heard Hodge say, "Don't worry. I have faith that you will do what needs to be done to close this case."

The words were meant as an encouragement, but to Jace, they were the last ones he wanted to hear.

.o.O.o.

Clary's fingers curled into the wood railing as she leaned over it. She tucked her chin to her chest and breathed in and out, in and out. The white puffs of her breath dissipated into the air in front of her.

"Are you all right?" Luke asked quietly.

She shook her head and looked out to the frosted fields surrounding the farmhouse. Everything was the same, but looked completely different. In light of the new information, the memories of her childhood took on a whole new image. "I just . . . I didn't know anything. How did you keep me from knowing? Why did you?"

Luke moved up next to her and leaned against the banister. "You were just a child. You wouldn't have understood."

Clary turned her face and peered up at him. "Maybe not when I was really young, but I was sixteen when Mom died. There were plenty of years in there to tell me."

"That's true. But I guess we'd become so used to hiding it that we didn't realize we still were." Finally, he glanced down at her. "We never meant to hurt anybody—least of all you, or your brother."

"Then why do it? Why didn't she just leave Dad if she was so unhappy?"

Luke sighed and averted his gaze once more. "When I look back, I realize we should have done things differently. But at the time, we did what we thought was best for everyone involved."

Clary pushed away from the railing and turned toward him, resting only one elbow against the wood now. "I know my parents' marriage wasn't good. Even as a kid, I could see that. What I don't understand was why she stayed. If she was so unhappy, and you were waiting for her, why did she stay? Why continue to lie and sneak around?"

Luke smiled sadly and raised his hand to tuck a rogue curl behind Clary's ear. "You make it sound so underhanded. Things like this are rarely as simple as they seem."

"Yes they are. There is truth and there is lie. It can't get any simpler than that."

"Life is full of gray, Clary. Even when it comes to truth. One person's may not be the next's."

"You sound like Jace." She stared out at the empty space where the car had been, wondering, not for the first time, where Jace went.

Luke said nothing for a few moments and then wrapped his arm around Clary's shoulder, dragging her into his side. "He's a good man."

She cocked her head and lifted her gaze to his. "Is this your way of changing the subject?"

Luke laughed and shook his head, pulling her in for a hug. Her nose pressed into the fabric covering his chest, and his scent—the familiar smell of her childhood—enveloped her. She grasped the back of his jacket and held him tighter.

"No. I just thought you should know."

"Well, I already figured that one out, but thanks."

Luke chuckled again and released her. "It would do you well to remember."

Clary frowned and met his eyes. "Why so foreboding? Do you know something I don't?" She raised a brow.

"I know a lot of things you don't." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm older and wiser. That's just a given."

"Older, yes, but I'm not so sure about wiser."

Luke said nothing for several minutes and just held her there in the cold. It felt nice and safe, something Clary never got from her own father. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time her father had held her like that—or even if he ever had in the first place.

"So, does this mean I'm forgiven?" Luke asked.

Clary thought carefully about her answer before responding. Did she forgive him? Could she look past the lies and omissions and move forward? The honest answer was: she didn't know. "I'm not sure. I want to, but I'm not sure. I really hate being lied to."

His mouth brushed the top of her head, and he sighed. "We never meant to lie to you, or to anyone really. It's not like we planned it, it just happened. But the situation we were in was not conducive to having an honest relationship. It just wasn't."

She pulled back and wrapped her arms around herself. "I can't say that I'm okay with everything, because I'm not. I'm not okay with the lies or the betrayal—regardless of how bad my parents' marriage was." She paused and drew in a breath. "But I understand how it could have happened. I know what it's like to fall in love with the very last person you should."

Luke stuck his hands in his pockets and looked out toward the driveway, his eyes squinting against the sunshine. "Love isn't about 'should,' there's only what is. You love who you love, and love is never wrong." A gust of wind twirled between them, ruffling Luke's hair. "I loved your mother. I didn't choose to, I just did. And I love you." He glanced down. "And whether or not you forgive me, or your mother, won't change that."

The popping sound of wheels on the gravel drive drew Clary's attention away. The car they'd brought to the country pulled up next to Luke's truck and stopped. Clary smiled to herself, knowing Jace would emerge in a matter of moments.

Luke leaned in and spoke quietly in Clary's ear. "Forgiveness is the greatest gift one can give, remember that."

For some reason, even though she knew he wanted it, Clary didn't get the impression Luke was talking about them. She turned to ask him what he meant, but was met instead by the closing door.

.o.O.o.

Jace pulled the car to a stop next to Luke's old beast of a truck. His eyes immediately settled on the flash of red near the front door. His heart stuttered in his chest. He wasn't ready to see her quite yet. On the drive back, he'd resolved himself to try to hide this new-found vulnerability once again. Hodge made a good point about Jace needing to finish what he'd started. For Clary's safety, it was the only course of action that made sense. It was too late for him anyway. He'd already dug himself into this hole and there was no way out. But he needed a moment to compose himself.

He closed his eyes and took a few steadying breaths before opening them again. With his resolve steeled, Jace reached over and opened the door, stepping out into the frigid air. It was way too cold this early in the year. The crunch of the frozen gravel sounded with every step. And every inch he drew closer, his chest tightened. More than anything, he wanted to pull Clary into his arms as he had the night before, and spill his guts completely. But that wasn't something he could ever do. When Jace reached the bottom of the stairs, he paused and peered up at her. She returned his gaze with a curious one of her own.

"Hey," she said. "Where were you?"

Jace moved up the stairs, one at a time, pausing at the one just under where she stood. Even there, he was still a couple of inches taller than her. "There were a few of errands I forgot about that I needed to take care of." In an effort to keep her from asking questions and forcing him to utter more lies, he said, "You look well rested. I take it you slept well?"

Clary grinned and reached down, lacing her fingers through his. "I always sleep well when I'm with you." Looking up, she met his gaze and a small crease formed between her brows. She lifted her other hand to his face, cupping his cheek and swiping her thumb under his eye. "Though I can't say the same about you."

Jace placed his hand over hers and drew it away, kissing her palm before releasing it altogether. "I'm fine, baby." He leaned in and touched his lips to hers, barely brushing them before pulling back. "I saw Luke out here. Did you two talk?"

Clary sighed and moved back, allowing him room to climb to the top step. She leaned against the railing and puckered her lips. "We did."

"And?" He positioned himself beside her.

"And . . . I don't know."

Jace looked down at his hands and took in a pained breath. If she couldn't forgive Luke—for an infraction, in his mind, less betraying than his own—how could she ever forgive him?

"I mean, I can understand to an extent, you know?" She glanced over at him and he could see the struggle behind her eyes. "It's just . . . I'm having a hard time absorbing everything. It's not every day you find out your mother had an affair lasting longer than your life."

"What?" Jace's brows rose in surprise. Luke did not share that bit of information the night before.

"Yeah." She nodded. "Apparently, they met through his job just after Jonathan was born." She shook her head and laughed. Not a funny ha-ha sort of laugh, but an incredulous one. "I just . . . I really can't believe this. Everything I ever thought I knew was wrong."

"Come on, Clary. That's not true."

She scowled at him and crossed her arms over her chest.

He reached out, pried them apart, and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles in an effort to calm her enough to hear him out. It wasn't just for his sake, but for Luke's as well. Jace suspected Luke had likely been in the same position as him. He'd obviously met Jocelyn Morgenstern through a case for the Agency—the timeline seemed to fit for when he'd served as an Agent. Somehow, Jace had the idea that if Clary could get past what happened between Luke and her mother, then maybe, just maybe, he'd have a chance at redemption once this was all over. It was a long shot, he knew, but he had to have something to hope for.

"Not everything was wrong," he started. "Luke and your mother were obviously friends—you wouldn't have believed that for so many years if it weren't the case. Why does it matter if the love they shared wasn't truly platonic? You've admitted yourself that your parents' marriage wasn't everything it appeared to be. At least with Luke, she was happy."

"I know, but you didn't know my mother. She was always telling us how important it was to be honest. It was like her mantra or something. And now I find this out and it just makes everything she said seem so hypocritical. It just . . . it makes me feel like I didn't even know her."

"Maybe it depends on how you look at it."

She snorted and turned away. "I don't know how else to see it."

Jace stuck his hands in his pockets and kicked at a raised nail in the wooden porch with the toe of his boot. "Maybe when she told you to be truthful, she wasn't necessarily talking about things you do or say, but to be honest with yourself. To have the courage to speak up when you're unhappy or when things seem wrong." He drew in a breath and held it for several seconds before releasing it and speaking the words he wasn't quite sure she would take the way he meant them. "To be the opposite of her."

Clary inhaled, held it, and then exhaled loudly, closing her eyes as her breath died away. Jace stood frozen at her side, wondering if he'd just blown any chance of smoothing things over. In no way did he want to insult Jocelyn's memory, but somehow, he had to get through to Clary. He had to at least try to make her see that none of this was black and white. That people—even those with the best intentions—mess up. The seconds before she spoke stretched like hours before them. But when she finally did, some of the heaviness weighing down Jace's chest lifted.

"You're right," she whispered, opening her eyes again and peering up at him. "She wouldn't have wanted me to live like she did, trapped and weak. She would have wanted me to be stronger than that. To be sure of what I wanted and to fight like hell to have it."

With relief, Jace reached up and held her face between his hands. Her expression was still unsure and a little sad, but she looked determined. "And from what I've seen, you've done just that. You are the most stubborn, determined, impossible, perfect woman I know—and I'm not just saying that because you let me get into your pants." She smacked him in the shoulder and he smiled, lowering his voice and speaking more seriously. "I think she'd be damn proud of you, baby."

Clary wrapped her hands around his wrists and stretched up to meet his lips with hers. "And she'd totally hate you."

Jace laughed and kissed her hard on the mouth. "She'd be a horrible mother if she didn't. I'm not the sort of boy that's good for anyone's daughter."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and he lowered his to her waist, dragging her body against his as he continued to kiss her, again and again. Soft, hard, slow, fast. Not a single one felt like too much, or enough. He couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, because for the first time all weekend, he felt a sense of hope.

Moments later, the front door opened, followed by a tortured chocking sound.

"Oh, my eyes! My eyes!" Simon said, stumbling back into the house with his hand covering half his face, and slamming the door shut behind him.

Jace and Clary stared at each other for a moment, their mouths still practically touching and their breathing fast.

"I'm never going to understand why you like him," Jace said finally. "Is he always so melodramatic?"

Clary grinned. "Because he's the best friend I could ever have. And yes, he is." She raised her brows. "If you're going to be with me, you're going to have to learn to get along."

"Is that a deal breaker? Because I'm just not sure that's going to be possible for me. I do have standards, you know."

"Be nice," she said, swiping her lips over his once more.

"Hmm, I thought you liked me bad."

"I don't believe I've ever said that."

"You don't have to say it, Spitfire. Haven't you ever heard the saying: Actions speak louder than words?" He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "And your actions have been screaming: 'Oh, God, Jace, I love it when you're bad.'"

She threw her head back and laughed, pushing against his chest at the same time. But he didn't let her get away. "I didn't realize that's what I was screaming when I . . . " She tucked her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, whispering some of the dirtiest things he'd ever heard come out of her mouth into his ear.

Jace felt his own cheeks heat—and he never blushed—and his fingers dug into her hips. "Jesus, Clary."

Pulling back, she grinned slyly. "You think you're the only one who can play dirty, Cass?" She winked and stepped away from him. "Now, you behave yourself while I go and find Luke." The playfulness in her eyes dimmed somewhat and the tentative gaze from before returned. "I really think I should talk to him—set a few of these things straight."

Even though Jace was now completely turned on and uncomfortable, he nodded. "I think that's probably a good idea. I'm going to go up and take a shower anyway—probably a cold one now, thanks to your fantastically vulgar mouth."

She giggled. "Sorry. Maybe I took that a little too far."

Jace reached out and grasped her waist, pulling her flush against him. "Are you kidding me? That was one of the hottest things I've ever heard."

"I doubt that." She pecked him quickly once more, and then drew back, meeting his gaze with sincerity. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For . . . just . . . thank you." Her hands slid down his arms, and when she reached his hands, she squeezed lightly before letting go and disappearing into the house.

Jace stood alone on the porch for a few minutes, just staring out into the nothingness of the fields surrounding Luke's house. He was glad Clary could find a way to forgive Luke—or at least look past the untruths that had made her doubt him. It didn't make him feel like he would be afforded the same luxury, but he would be lying if he didn't admit it at least made things seem less hopeless.

With one last look around, Jace sighed and made his way into the house. Warmth hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold. His fingers tingled as blood started returning to them. He hadn't realized how cold he was until he came inside.

Voices drifted out into the entryway as Jace removed his jacket and boots, but he didn't feel like seeing anyone right then. Least of all Isabelle. She would annoy him until he told her what had happened, and he wasn't ready to share that with anyone just yet. This vulnerability was not something he was interested in everyone knowing about. It was bad enough it was happening at all, he didn't need the looks and attitude he knew he'd get from Isabelle too.

As quietly as he could, he climbed the stairs and slipped into the room where he'd left his bag the day before. Kneeling down before it, he grabbed some fresh clothes from the main zipper. But when he reached into the front pocket to collect his underclothes, his hand brushed a hard lump inside a pair of his socks. He froze as a jolt shot through his chest. The locket. He'd almost forgotten about it. Almost.

The portion of the crushing weight he'd felt lift out on the porch bore back down on him once more, pressing even harder on his chest. Who was he kidding? His situation and Luke's weren't even close to being in the same realm. Luke was a friend, a father figure. He wasn't a man Clary trusted with her heart, with her body. Those things were completely different, and Jace knew it. There would be no easy pass for him. One of the many things he loved about Clary was her fiery spirit, and that spirit was what was going to determine whether or not she could forgive him when the truth came out.

With a sigh, he gathered up his clothes and closed his bag, making sure to push the treasure hiding socks all the way to the bottom before standing. He crossed the hallway quickly, closing himself in the bathroom and twisting the lock behind him.

He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his hair, trying his hardest to snap himself out of this funk. If he didn't get a grip soon, people would notice. Clary had already said something the night before about him seeming off. He was a trained Agent, it was his job to make people believe one thing, when the reality was another. _I can do this_, he reassured himself.

Without another thought, he stripped out of his clothes, piling them neatly next to his clean ones, and jumped into the shower. He turned the faucet and pulled the lever immediately, not bothering to get out of the way as the freezing spray shot from the nozzle. Gooseflesh rose and spread over his skin, the painful pelt chasing the lines of his body. If anyone happened to find out he had literally taken a cold shower, he would have given them the standard excuse any male would give for the situation, but in actuality, the pain helped him focus. It brought everything back to perspective and helped him to see things a little clearer once more. So he stood there, braced with one hand against the tile, head bowed, and the other tightened into a fist at his side.

He closed his eyes and let the frigid water pour down his face and over his shoulders. The cold seeped through his skin and into his soul, making his entire being feel the way his heart had the entire day. Eventually, the water warmed and he washed, trying his hardest to scrub away the unrest still threatening to burst through. Once he'd finished, dried, and dressed in the jeans he'd brought into the bathroom with him—somehow, he'd forgotten his shirt—he stood in front of the small golden framed mirror, and stared at his reflection through the swipe he'd made in the steam. His hair still dripped water onto his shoulders and fell over his collarbone, onto his chest. The black lines of his tattoo stood out against his skin, reminding him again why he'd gotten them in the first place. If his mother knew, if she somehow found out, he'd never hear the end of it. She'd make sure he knew how she'd always known he couldn't do this job, how he was too weak.

Jace bowed his head and gripped the edges of the counter, taking in several deep breaths before standing straight again and meeting the eyes of his reflection. The red rims and dark circles gave away more than he ever wanted anyone to know. Until he got a grip on himself, he couldn't go downstairs and face any of them. He'd distracted Clary earlier, but he'd never have the same luck with Isabelle. She knew him too well. Since they were children, she'd always been able to tell when he was BSing. She'd definitely know something was up now.

Gathering his things, Jace peeked out into the hall. Once he was sure no one else was upstairs, he crossed the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him. He leaned against it for a moment, still feeling the aching squeeze in his chest. Moving across the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, needing a moment, just one more moment to collect himself. He rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his face to his hands, his fingers gripping the wet strands of his hair.

It was in this position that Clary found him. He'd been so absorbed in what was going on inside his own head that he hadn't even heard her enter the room.

"Jace?" she said.

Jace startled slightly and looked up, meeting her concerned gaze.

"Are you all right?" She moved slowly toward him.

He swallowed hard and tried to tell her he was fine, but the words stuck in his throat. Like every lie lately, he just didn't want to say it. Didn't want to add to the already massive pile of them he was buried under. So instead of answering, Jace just took in a breath and turned away, his eyes intent on the floor

Within seconds, Clary stood in front of him. He could see her sock covered feet between his. And stupidly, he marveled at how small they were next to his. Her hands rose to his head, her fingers combing through his damp hair. He closed his eyes and leaned forward slightly, resting his head against her stomach.

"Jace . . ."

The sound of his name from her lips was both like a knife to his chest and a salve to heal everything that was wrong inside of him. He lifted his hands to her hips, his fingers digging in as he drew her into him, and then wrapped his arms around her waist. The scent of her enveloped him and all he wanted was to hold her, to just feel her body against his, her arms around him. He buried his face in her abdomen and squeezed tighter.

"Jace, you're scaring me. What's wrong?"

Jace shook his head. "I'm sorry," he mumbled into her. She probably thought he meant he was sorry for scaring her, but it was so much more than that. More than he could ever express. More than she would ever know.

Clary's hands traveled from his hair to his face, lifting until he peered up at her. Her eyes were large and concerned, and so damn beautiful he could have broken right there. Her fingers trailed over his cheeks and she lowered her lips to his forehead. "Please talk to me," she whispered.

"I'm tired, Clary. I'm so tired." And he was. Exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Jace knew it wasn't the answer she wanted, but it was the only one he had to give. He reached up and took her hand in his, tugging on it gently. "Please," he breathed. He didn't even know what he was asking for, he just knew he needed something.

Her eyes moved from one of his to the other, a line burrowed into the skin between her brows as she studied him. He wondered what it was she saw when she stared into him that way. Did she see the war battling inside him? Did she see how much he ached for her? How much he wished things could be different than they were? How much he wanted to keep her?

After several moments, Clary nodded and moved to his side, sitting next to him on the mattress. She scooted back to the center of the bed and pulled Jace after her. He followed without question. She lay down on her side, facing him, and Jace mimicked her movements.

Once he lay down, Clary took his arm and draped it over her waist, tucking herself into him and nuzzling her face into the space just under his chin. Jace closed his eyes, let out a trembling breath and tightened his hold around her, burying his face into her hair and clutching her against him, as if he were afraid she might disappear. Her lips gently brushed the skin of his neck, and her hand fanned across his back.

There were so many things he wanted to say. _Please understand. Stay. Forgive me. Love me._ So many confessions. So many "I love yous." So many "I'm sorrys." But the only thing that managed to pass his lips were two words he knew she wouldn't realize the significance of, the magnitude of which he meant them, and how much he needed her to hear them. It didn't matter whether or not she knew the true reason for him to say them, all that mattered was that he did. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, with his eyes clenched shut and his arms tucked around her, he let the words—an echo of her earlier sentiment, and barely a breath in the quiet room—fall from his lips.

"Thank you."

* * *

_Much love and thanks to my super beta Lightlacedwithbeauty. She's the BEST and I love her._

_Also, thank you to all of you who have left comments to me here, on formspring, and on my twitter. You will never know how much I appreciate them._

_Two weeks for the next update. Until then . . . XOXO ~ddpjclaf _


	26. Strength and Surrender

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

**25. Strength and Surrender**

_Two warnings for this chapter: 1) LLWB has issued a tissue warning—just passing that along. 2) The heat level rises here. People sensitive to citrus—even my non-descriptive brand—be forewarned._

Chapter songs:

_**Give Me Strength – Snow Patrol_

_**Already Over - Red_

_**Dance With the Devil – Breaking Benjamin_

_(So, Simon is singing a certain song here that I DO NOT LOVE, but it fit him. Forgive me.)_

_**Fade Away – Breaking Benjamin (yes, two by them this time!)_

_**In My Veins – Andrew Belle_

* * *

Pale purple light streamed through a gap in the curtains as Jace opened his eyes. The thin beam expanded larger and larger as it meandered across the space, growing so big that by the time it fell upon him, it illuminated the entire bed. The color gave the room a hazy, dreamlike feel, which made Jace wonder if he actually weren't awake at all. He blinked several times, caught in that just out of sleep state where he didn't quite know where he was, and then reached up to rub his eyes. When he opened them once more, everything appeared the same.

Unfamiliar surroundings took shape in the waning light. Dark, heavy curtains hung over a small, square window. An alarm clock with bright red lights glared out at him from a battered, wooden nightstand. He lay horizontally on a full-sized mattress—his feet nearly dangling off the side—on top of a heavy, dark-colored patchwork quilt. Something small and warm curled up next to him. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion had finally taken over. It took him a moment to remember that he was at Luke's, and that the unmoving figure in his arms was Clary.

He lowered his gaze to her sleeping face, the ethereal cast from the window making her skin look like porcelain. Reaching up, he lightly trailed his fingers over her cheeks and across her lips. They fell open slightly as he passed, the heat of her breath warming his hand. He pulled away, not wanting to wake her when the look on her face seemed so peaceful. Still, he couldn't help but stare. Not just because she was beautiful, but because he could, and he didn't know how much longer that statement would be true.

Soft strands of fiery red framed her small face. A smattering of freckles dotted her nose, and he wanted to lean down and kiss each one. Her breath rose and fell, slowly, rhythmically, as her eyes moved under her lids. Dreaming. She was always dreaming. The last thing he wanted to do was to crash those dreams, bringing with him the nightmare he'd endured. But he would.

The moment of inevitability fell around him, weighing in on Jace until he could hardly breathe. He knew it was coming, from the beginning, it had been a guarantee. But now that it was here, he wasn't ready. Not for any of it, but especially not to lose her.

Jace wished he could stay there, in that moment, for the rest of forever. Just lying there, looking into her face and feeling her secure in his arms. But, he knew it couldn't be. Finally, he had to make himself remember it. It had taken his talk with Hodge to make him realize, to make him see how dangerous a situation he was in. On one hand, he had this girl, this beautiful, kind, amazing girl, who he would give anything for. Do anything to keep safe. And on the other, he had his job—something he would give up in a heartbeat for her. But that was where the lines blurred. This time, his job _was_ her. Her family, her safety, her life. As much as he wanted it, wanted her, he could not have it.

Hodge made him realize that no matter how he felt about Clary, his priority had to be the case. It had to be that way because it was the only way he could protect her.

Jace closed his eyes and curled in around her, his hands gripping her back and his face buried in her hair, letting himself just have this. This one last sliver of time to truly be with her. To let himself feel everything he wanted to feel, with no shame, or regret, or fear. Because, in this room in a house far from the life they both lived, lying side-by-side in a stream of dying day, this last moment belonged only to them.

.o.O.o.

Clary fidgeted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Isabelle and Simon droned on and on in the backseat, finding something new to disagree on every few minutes. As annoying as it was, at least it was something. If they weren't there, she wasn't sure she would have survived the ride home.

Something changed that last night at Luke's. Clary didn't know how or why, but knew that something had. The way Jace had clung to her, desperate, almost as if he feared it would be the last time he'd ever hold her, stuck with her in a nagging, permanent way. His hands had curled into her skin, digging in possessively, but not in the way they had in the past. It was not passionate and filled with need. It radiated torment. Something was wrong, very, very wrong, and she couldn't figure out what. Everything had been fine, and then it . . . wasn't.

Since then, Jace had been unusually quiet. He hadn't participated in the conversations going on around him, nor had he really touched her. Isabelle and Simon seemed oblivious, continuing on with their banter as if no one else were in the car. But, Clary noticed. She snuck peeks at Jace every few minutes, and he was always the same. Face sullen, eyes forward. It was almost as if he'd reconstructed one of the invisible walls he'd had around himself when they'd first met. Was he pushing her away? If so, why? What had she done?

When they arrived back at the apartment, Jace grabbed both his bag and hers from the trunk. She tried to take her own, but he shrugged her off, knocking her fingers away from his shoulder.

"I've got it," he said, his voice flat and low. His eyes never connected with hers as he turned toward the building.

Clary stared after him, watching as his frame disappeared through the door. Her spine prickled with apprehension.

"What's his problem?" Simon asked, hiking the strap of his bag over his shoulder and stopping beside Clary.

She just shook her head and swallowed against the unease creeping up her throat.

"Don't worry about it," Isabelle said, slamming the trunk to the car shut.

Clary spun to face her. "Why shouldn't I worry about it?"

Isabelle slipped her arms through the straps of her backpack. "Because, he's just having a guy moment. He'll get over it."

"A guy moment? What's that? I've never had one of those before," Simon said.

"That's because you're not a guy," Isabelle said.

Simon huffed and opened his mouth to retort, but Clary interrupted. "How do you know he'll get over it? Do you know what's going on?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But I know him, and Jace is . . . moody sometimes."

Clary glanced back at the door Jace had gone through, pondering Isabelle's suggestion. "You think that's all it is?" She looked back at her roommate with uncertainty. "You think he's just being moody?"

"Sure." Isabelle shrugged and averted her gaze.

Clary didn't miss the flash in Isabelle's eyes as she turned away. The front door to the building opened once more, and Jace strolled out sans both bags. Simon cleared his throat and motioned at Isabelle for the two of them to start toward the door. She followed reluctantly.

Jace stopped in front of Clary, his eyes focused on the set of keys in his hand. They jingled as he moved them anxiously with his fingers. "I'm going to go return the car. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Clary frowned. "You're not coming over later?" She felt her heart sink, but tried to remind herself of what Isabelle said. Maybe he was just in a funk. Maybe this wasn't about her at all.

"No," he said, still not looking at her. "I've got to be up early tomorrow, and I don't usually end up getting much sleep when I stay with you." Finally he met her gaze, a sly grin pulling at one corner of his mouth. Clary noticed how it didn't reach his eyes. They were still strained. Still vacant.

"Are you sure?" She stepped forward, reaching for his hand. He stiffened minutely when she touched him. "I can behave. I promise."

"You may be able to behave, but I'm not so sure I can." He bent and touched his lips to her cheek. She turned her face to catch his mouth, but he moved away before she could. It almost seemed intentional and left a hollow feeling in her chest. "Later, baby," he whispered.

As he turned to move away, Clary tightened her grip on his hand. "Jace."

He froze with his back to her.

"Will you just tell me one thing?"

His shoulders rose and fell like it took everything he had to concentrate on taking slow, deep breaths. "Yeah?"

She squeezed his fingers and whispered, "Did I do or say something? If I did . . . just tell me."

He pivoted slowly, and when she saw his face, she noticed his brows were pulled together and creases lined his forehead. Many would take that look to mean confusion, but Clary knew his face, and this look was not puzzlement, it was restraint. What he was restraining from, she had no idea. "Why would you think that?"

"It's just," Clary let out a slow breath, "you seem to be avoiding me, and I wondered if it was because of something I did."

Jace closed his eyes for a moment and bowed his head as he stepped closer, taking her face into his hands. When their eyes met, he stared into her, his gaze intense. "You didn't do anything. I'm just . . . I'm a little off. Okay?" His fingers slid across her cheek, lightly tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Everything's fine."

Clary nodded, shivering at his touch and wanting to believe he was being sincere. He smiled, barely even a twitch of his mouth, and leaned in. She closed her eyes, anticipating his kiss. But when it came, it brushed the tip of her nose and then the edge of her jaw, leaving her lips cold and untouched. Slowly, she opened her eyes only to see him backing away and turning toward the car. Her arms stayed outstretched for a few seconds, aching to just have him back again, and not understanding why they'd felt nearly as empty when he was still in them. It was almost as if she were holding a shell of him, instead of the whole thing.

Her gaze followed as Jace walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat without looking back at her. The engine revved and the brake lights glowed red. Clary heard the transmission shift into gear, and the car pulled away from the curb. She crossed her arms over her chest, attempting to hold in her heart and protect it from the cold threatening to invade her as she watched the taillights fade into the distance.

.o.O.o.

Jace growled in frustration when his back hit the mat for the third time since he and Alec started sparring. He rolled over and punched it, his fist sinking into the soft cushion before hiking himself to his feet. His breath came ragged and his body ached in places it had never ached before. This didn't make sense. Alec never beat him. Never.

"If you're not feeling up to it, we can quit for now," Alec offered.

Jace stopped and glared at him. "Just set back up." He pointed to the center markings and took his spot. Rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck, he took in a breath and released it slowly, setting his stance. "I'm ready."

Alec sighed. "Jace, we don't have to—"

"I said I'm ready."

"I'm not doing this right now." Alec turned and made his way back to the bench lining the wall and plopped down, taking a sip from his water bottle.

Jace raised his hands to his hair, gripping it hard in his fists. "I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth.

Alec shook his head. "You're not. And you haven't been since you got back from Luke's three days ago." He stood and stretched his arm across his chest. "I haven't asked because I know how you are about your privacy, but don't think I haven't noticed how you've been avoiding phone calls and sleeping in your own bed every night."

Jace pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and middle finger. "It's . . . complicated."

"It's not complicated. You're pulling away. It's what you do."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Alec picked up a hand towel and wiped the sweat from his face. "You only let people get so close. Me. Isabelle. But this girl . . . Clary . . . you've let her in, and now you're running."

"I'm not running."

Alec raised a brow. "Oh, yeah? What do you call it, then?"

Jace dropped his hands to his side. "I call it cutting my losses. I call it not making it any worse. I call it . . ."

"Running," Alec said.

"I'm doing what I have to do, Alec. What I should have done awhile ago," Jace said. "You know it and I know it. It's all going to be over soon anyway."

Alec nodded. "The case will be, yes. But, whatever you've got going on with the girl won't."

Jace moved over to the bench and sat, his eyes focused on the scuffed wooden floor beneath his feet. "Yes, it will," he said quietly, his voice containing more vulnerability than he was comfortable with. He cleared his throat and infused his words with as much nonchalance as he could muster. "It'll be easier on everyone if it's already on its way to ending beforehand."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Alec sat next to Jace.

"I don't know what I believe anymore." He cocked his head and met Alec's blue eyes. They studied him with a certain amount of understanding. Jace let his guard down slightly. "I thought I knew everything before. I thought I could come in here and do this and just leave it behind. And that's exactly what I tried to do. But . . . I didn't expect . . . her."

"And you think she expected you?"

Jace frowned. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side. You are _my_ partner, after all."

"This is being on your side," Alec gestured to himself. "Telling you the truth and not letting you delude yourself into thinking separating yourself is going to make any of this easier."

"I'll tell you what will make this easier." Jace stood. "Punching you at least a dozen times is a good start."

"And here we go with the avoiding again."

"It's not avoiding," Jace glanced over his shoulder to make sure Alec was following him onto the mat. "It's a proven fact that hitting things helps relieve stress."

Alec sighed and took his place across from Jace. "Are you ever going to tell me what triggered this? I figure I at least deserve an explanation as to why you'd like to beat me up."

"I wasn't aware I needed a reason for that." Jace lunged for Alec, just missing him as Alec spun away. He grinned, feeling the rush of adrenaline surge through his veins. Earlier, he hadn't been able to keep his mind from Clary and the talk he'd had with Hodge several days before. As much as Jace hadn't wanted to hear it, Hodge was right. There was no way he could continue on the way he was and still manage to finish out this case. He couldn't be an Agent and be with Clary—not in the way he wanted to. The side of him that wanted to protect her conflicted with the one that needed to do or say anything to get what the Agency needed. He needed to pull back, to distance his feelings from his job. Just a few more days. That's all, a few more days.

Alec shot out, clipping Jace in the shoulder, but not before Jace landed one right to Alec's side. Alec grunted and jumped back, one hand on his ribs. Jace felt fire shoot through him, and a sense of rightness penetrated the dark.

"So, we're doing this for real now?" Alec asked with a strained voice, straightening and shaking off Jace's blow.

"Looks like it."

"Are you sure you can take another beating?"

Jace paused and raised a brow. "Since when do you talk trash?"

"Since I landed you on your back three times already today."

"Ahh, well, consider that my gift to you, because there's no way you're getting me down again."

Alec grinned, and Jace returned the gesture. He let all of his earlier thoughts and worries melt away as he absorbed himself in the sparring match. Here, in this place, it wasn't lies and tip-toeing and guilt. It was just him and Alec doing what they'd always done—training. As much as Jace didn't know what to do with everything else, one thing was for certain, he was damn good at this, and he was going to prove it.

Alec kept his distance, circling Jace just as Jace circled him. They held their hands loose and in front of them, ready to grab or defend if necessary. Jace watched for any sign that Alec might be ready to move. Mostly, he kept his gaze on the patch of skin just above Alec's left brow. It always twitched when he was about to do something. Alec knew about this tell and tried desperately to keep it in check. But there was no use, Jace saw it as soon as it happened—just a tiny, barely noticeable twitch.

He braced himself, his muscles tensed and ready. Alec jabbed with his fist. Jace caught it, wrapped his hands around it, and twisted until he had Alec up against his back. With one jerk, Alec tumbled over Jace's shoulder and landed with a thud on the mat. His breath escaped in a whoosh. Relief and confidence flooded through Jace at the knowledge that he still had it.

He needed this. Needed to feel powerful and superior again. With everything that was happening, all he ever felt was weak and loathsome. When he was with Clary, allowing her to love him and for him to love her back, he felt a semblance of strength. But it was a different kind of strength. Lately though, the only thing he knew was regret. Regret for letting himself get in so deep. Regret for all the ways he was going to hurt her in the days to come. Regret that he couldn't even look back and wish he'd done anything different. Because God help him, he didn't. If he had it to do all over again, if he had the choice to change the way he'd allowed himself to give in, he wouldn't alter a damn thing.

But, he was tired of looking weak, of feeling weak. So, for just a moment, he was going to allow himself to be the old him. The him that believed being an Agent was the most important thing in the world. The him who knew, without a doubt, that he was the best. For just these very short seconds, that was who he was. And to be honest, he liked it. The power. Security. Confidence.

Jace leaned over Alec and smiled, feeling that same rush flow over him once more. "Again?"

Alec rolled onto his side and groaned.

.o.O.o.

Clary awoke to the sound of Simon singing, and the faint smell of something burning. She stretched her arms above her head, her hand hitting the hard edge of the couch. Sitting up, she stifled a yawn and peered in the direction his voice was coming from. She saw him through the kitchen doorway, his head bobbing and hips swaying awkwardly. Smiling, she stood and moved across the living room, stopping just under the archway, her brows raised in amusement.

Simon had a big tub of ready-made cookie dough sitting out on the counter. A hand-towel draped over his shoulder and big of globs of cookie dough were spaced unevenly over a cookie sheet. The timer on the stove went off and Simon rushed over to it, opening the door and waving his hand in front of his face when a big plume of smoke cascaded out.

"Oh, crap!" he said, grabbing a kitchen chair and immediately fanning the screaming smoke detector on the ceiling.

Clary rushed into the kitchen, grabbing a pot holder and removing the tray of blackened cookies from the oven. She grabbed another towel and flung it back and forth waving the cloud away. Once it had dissipated, she reached up and turned the temperature down from four seventy-five to three seventy-five.

"What in the world are you doing?" she asked finally, turning to him.

"Making cookies," Simon said, his arms hanging limp at his sides as he still stood on the rickety, wooden chair. His hair stuck up all over his head as if he'd been running his fingers through it continuously. Clary even thought she spied a bit of dough stuck in some of it.

She motioned for him to get down and to come to her. He obliged, pushing the chair back under the table and stepping in front of her. Clary sighed and pulled against his shoulder so he was bent at the waist, his head even with her eyes. Lifting a hand, she began to pick at the drying dough crusting in the strands just above his forehead. "Why were you doing that? You know you're a disaster in the kitchen."

He shrugged. "You love cookies."

Clary laughed, working on a particularly glued together chunk of hair. "I do, but I also would like to not die in a house fire."

"You've seemed sad. I just wanted to make you feel better."

Clary froze, the smile slipping from her face. Had she been that transparent the last few days? Things had been . . . strange ever since they'd returned from the country, but she thought she'd been covering pretty well. "Have I?"

Simon looked up, stretching to full height. "Maybe not to some, but I know you."

She sighed and turned to the sink washing the remnants of dough from under her fingernails. "I'm okay, Si. You don't need to worry about me."

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried about me. I promised I'd punch him if he hurt you, and since he hasn't been around all week, I'm assuming my fist is going to need to meet his jaw soon."

"He's just been busy with school and family stuff," Clary said, her voice quiet and unconvincing even to her own ears. Those were the excuses Jace had given her for being scarce, but that didn't explain why, when he was around, he didn't touch or kiss her beyond niceties. A peck to the cheek. A brushing of hair away from her face. They were sweet and nice, but they weren't him. They weren't them. She pressed her palms to the edge of the sink and leaned into them, closing her eyes.

"Uh-huh. Too busy to come see his girlfriend in four days?"

Clary lifted her hand to rub her forehead. "I don't know. I don't know anything, Simon. Something seems wrong, but he says there's nothing. I can't . . . I don't know what else to do. I can't make him talk to me."

"You can withhold sex," he offered with a one-shouldered shrug.

She laughed, even though it wasn't funny. "He won't even kiss me; I don't think that would work."

"Okay. I really don't want to hear about your sex life."

"You suggested it. I was only telling you why it wouldn't help."

"But, I didn't mean for you to share!"

Clary sighed and glanced down at the dirty dishes lying in the bottom of the sink. Two bowels, two spoons, a knife, and for some reason, the beaters from the electric mixer. Why would Simon need those for ready-made dough? And then she spied the mess of flour near the trashcan. Apparently, he'd tried to make them from scratch first. Her heart swelled at the thought. "I wouldn't share that anyway, Simon. I . . . I don't really want to talk about this, okay?"

And she didn't. All she'd been doing the entire week was thinking about it. Asking herself why Jace was avoiding her. Why he wouldn't touch her, kiss her, hold her. It was confusing and frustrating. She just wanted a moment to not dwell on it. For something to distract her long enough so that she could smile a real, genuine smile. To not feel this ominous ache right in the center of her chest.

"Well, what do you want to do then?"

Clary closed her eyes and held her breath, letting it out in a gush. She wanted to do anything but think about Jace, but nothing seemed to be able to distract her from him. Turning back around, she faced Simon. "I think I'm just gonna go lie back down—in my room. I'm sorry, I'm just crabby today."

"Hmm, I think I have a better idea." Simon whipped his iPod out of his pocket, his forehead scrunched in concentration, and then a big smile spread over his face when he found what he was searching for. Looking up at her, he smirked, and the first beats of a song came from the device.

Clary gasped. "No, Simon. No." She shook her head and moved toward him, her arms outstretched and fingers grasping for his iPod.

He nodded, singing the first lyrics of the song, slightly off tune, but decent enough that it would be recognizable, _"Ohhhwoahohohhhohoh."_

She took another step. "You know I hate that song! It gets stuck in my head and won't leave."

Simon ignored her and walked backward, running into one of the kitchen chairs and reaching out to grab it, steadying himself before he fell. _"Ohhhwoahohohhhohoh."_

"I will seriously kill you if you don't stop!"

He stepped backwards onto the chair and stumbled up on the table, his eyes never leaving hers as he towered above her. When the beat picked up, he started moving in wild, jerky movements, belting the lyrics. _"You know you love me. I know you care. Just shout whenever and I'll be there."_

"Simon!" she screeched, clambering up the chair and onto the table after him.

Simon laughed, held his iPod above his head, and continued with his torture._ "You want my love. You want my heart. And we will never, ever, ever be apart."_

"Oh, I will have your heart and then I will impale it! Gimme!" She swiped fruitlessly for his hand, wanting the noise to stop, but also not being able to stop the grin pulling at her lips.

"_Are we an item? Girl, quit playin'." _He waggled his finger in front of his face and then pushed her hands away. _"We're just friends? What are you sayin'?" _His eyes opened wide as if he were shocked. _"Said there's another. Look right in my eyes—" _

"Siiiiiiimooooon!" Clary half whined, half laughed. "You're killing me."

He grinned and leaned in, one hand still extended above his head. His dark eyes met hers, and for a split second, grew serious. "But, you're finally smiling."

Clary's grin faltered, and she realized she felt happy. For the first time in almost five days, she felt happy.

"Come on." Simon held out one hand, while placing his iPod on top of the cabinet. Cocking his head to the side, he grinned. "You know you wanna."

She reached out and slapped her palm to his. "Only you could get me to dance to this crap."

He twirled her around clumsily on the small tabletop. "I think you secretly love it."

Clary stopped and stared hard at him. "I do not love it. I hate it." She paused. "But I love you."

Simon threw his head back and let out a noise that sounded like a mixture of his lips vibrating together and air whistling between his teeth. "Who wouldn't?"

"Do you want a list?"

"Shut up." He pressed his fingertips to her sternum and shoved her away, beginning his serenade again. _"Baby, baby, baby ohhhhhhhh. Like baby, baby, baby noooooooooo. Like baby, baby, baby ohhhhhhhhhh. Thought you'd always be mine. Mine."_

Clary laughed again, wanting to smash his iPod and hug him with equal measure. Instead, she danced, side-by-side, up on the table with her best friend. They took turns doing the stupidest moves they could think of, while simultaneously trying not to fall of the tiny round piece of furniture.

After awhile, Simon took her hand again and pulled her to him, clumsily dipping her. Standing in the door frame to the kitchen was an upside-down Isabelle, her head cocked and brows furrowed. "What the hell are you two doing?"

Simon didn't pull Clary up and just let her hang there. "Dancing. What does it look like?" he said.

"On the table? And what is that God-awful racket you're listening to?"

Finally, Simon righted Clary, but he kept her hand in his and his other along her lower back. "Hey, no judging our choice of cheer-up music. It's all your cousin's fault that she's—"

Simon's words cut off when Jace's tall form stepped in beside Isabelle. His eyes traveled right to Simon's hand at Clary's back, and then up to meet hers. She felt her heart speed just seeing him.

"Hey," she said lamely, trying to step back from Simon, but feeling his fingers pull her back in protectively.

"Hey," Jace said, his gaze traveling back to Simon's hand. "Have you replaced me as your dance partner?"

Clary opened her mouth to respond, but Simon interrupted. "It's not like you've had much interest in doing anything, least of all dancing, with her lately anyway."

"Simon," Clary hissed. "No."

"And you just thought you'd step in and fill my shoes, is that it?"

"When you disappear and give lame excuses, yeah, someone needs to take care of her." Simon stepped up next to Clary, and then shoved her behind him. She nearly stumbled off the back of the table, reaching out to grab his belt loops to steady herself.

"Oh, Jesus," Isabelle added with an eye roll, "are we up to the chest thumping portion of the evening now?"

"Certainly not," Jace said, his face slipping back into a careless mask. "We all know who would come out the winner if that ever happened anyway."

Clary climbed down onto the chair closest to her and moved toward Jace, looking over her shoulder at Simon, narrowing her eyes. "And you both know how much I don't need anyone to look after me, so this is a moot point anyway."

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, not moving from his position on top of the table. Clary scowled at him before turning back to Jace. He glanced down at her, his eyes lighting for just a moment before going dark again. She sighed inside. Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and dragged him out into the hallway, out of earshot of the others.

"I thought you were going to some family thing with Isabelle and Alec?"

"I am." He shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "She needed to come pick up a few things for Maryse before we go meet Alec and head over there."

"I thought that's where you were this morning."

"This morning I was working out with Alec."

"Oh," she said, moving closer and reaching out to take his hand. "Will I see you tonight?"

He bit his bottom lip and averted his gaze. "I'm not sure. Depends on when we get back. It might be late."

"Jace . . ."

"I'm sorry, Clary. What do you want me to do? I have obligations other than you, you know?"

Clary jerked back as if he'd slapped her across the face, and jerked her hand away from his. "Well, excuse me for wanting to spend a little time with my boyfriend. Who, may I add, I've hardly seen for five days."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I've just been busy, okay? What more do you want me to say?"

Finally, she couldn't stand the distance between them any longer. She moved in front of him, took his face in her hands, and made him look at her. Quietly, she said, "I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me, 'I'll see you later, baby,' like you used to."

He stared down at her, a storm of emotion swirling behind his golden irises. They moved from one of hers to the other, his breathing shallow and strained. She could feel the tension in his jaw. Reaching up, he took her wrists in his hands, lightly, his fingers so warm and gentle.

Clary closed her eyes for a moment, and shakily breathed out the word, "Please," before opening them again. "I need you, Jace."

He turned his face slightly, his lips brushing her open palm, but not kissing. More than anything she wanted to feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her, his breath flowing across her skin, but all she got was that tiny movement. Just a momentary swipe.

Isabelle emerged from her room into the hall carrying a large box in her arms. "Ready?" she asked Jace.

Clary looked up at him and watched everything fade away. Each small flicker, gone.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll be right there."

She nodded and breezed past them into the hallway. "Later, Clary," she called over her shoulder.

"Later." Clary turned back to Jace. He had dropped her hands. She looked up at him, and this time at least, he didn't look away.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'll try. Okay?"

She nodded, swallowing against the tightness in her throat. The thing was, she didn't really know what he would try to do. Come over later? Talk to her? Touch her? Love her?

As he moved toward the door, he reached over, tucking a few loose tendrils behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her cheek. The warmth of him made her tremble with need for more. God, how she wished he'd open his palm, lay it against her cheek, and just let her feel him. Just for a little while. She leaned into his fingertips . . . and then he was gone. Only cold, dead space remained where he'd stood. Clary's eyes stung with threatening tears as the door closed with a small click behind him.

.o.O.o.

The fatigues were starched and heavy against Jace's skin. He'd never minded the scratchy material before, but then again, he'd always viewed them as an accomplishment, an honor. Now, they felt like a prison. A thing that had him trapped within confines he no longer wanted to be in. But there was no way out. No way to rectify what he had wronged.

Alec and Isabelle sat to either side of him, engaged in a conversation he had no interest in listening to. He hadn't participated, even when they addressed him directly. He wasn't in the mood to discuss what was going on with him and Clary—or, rather with him alone.

Isabelle had asked as soon as they got away from the apartment, but Jace had just shrugged her off. He couldn't explain this need to distance himself. But with everything inside him, he couldn't be with her right now. Just looking into Clary's face reminded him of how much she was going to hate him. How much he had screwed everything up. And how much he wished he could take it away.

Somewhere in the selfish part of his mind, he'd realized he still had the days leading up to the ball. In those days, she was still his. She still wanted him, loved him. And he knew it hurt her to see him pull away, but he didn't know how else to protect either of them from what was coming. All he knew was that every moment he was with her, he wanted to tell her. Everything. Wanted to let it all out, purging his soul and infecting hers. He wouldn't let that happen, not yet. She didn't deserve to feel the betrayal and pain longer than she needed to. At least, that's how he rationalized his actions to himself. Isabelle just told him he was being a douche. Maybe that was true.

The heavy oak door on the opposite side of the room opened, and the same girl who'd met them for their last meeting came out. "Agents Lightwood, Herondale," She nodded to each of them, her blond hair pulled up into a tight bun at the back of her head. Piercing green eyes stared into each of them pointedly. "They're ready for you." She shifted to the side, and gestured for them to enter.

Alec stood first, followed by Isabelle. Jace drew in a steadying breath and rose slowly. He tucked his hat under his arm and followed them through the doors. The three of them stood in a line at attention, eyes forward, legs together, hands at their sides.

"At ease." Maryse's voice silenced the room.

Jace took one step out so that his legs were shoulder width apart, and clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes finding her blue ones across the room. She gestured to three chairs situated in a row front of them—the only three on that side of the room—facing the congregation of twenty or so behind Maryse.

"Have a seat, Agents."

Jace, Isabelle, and Alec took their respective chairs without speaking, sitting simultaneously as they were taught in training. Maryse did not sit, but instead stood in front of the group behind her, her body clothed in a deep blue power suit. Her hair was pulled up in the customary bun, and even though Isabelle wore fatigues instead of a suit, she was the perfect image of her mother.

Maryse held a small, slender object resembling a ruler in her hand and slapped it against her palm repeatedly. The smack, smack, smack was the only sound in the room. She paced for a moment, her eyes fixed on the floor in front of her as if she were organizing what she wanted to say. Finally, she stopped and turned to the three waiting Agents.

"Tomorrow night marks the culmination of all of your hard work. Are you ready?"

Jace swallowed, unable to answer because his response would undoubtedly be, "No." How could he be ready to lose the one thing that had ever meant anything to him?

Alec answered instead. "Yes, Ma'am. We're ready."

"Good." She nodded. "And, you are all prepared for your roles?"

Isabelle responded this time. "Agent Herondale and I will attend the ball with Miss Morgenstern and her friend Mr. Lewis. Agent Lightwood will be stationed nearby, keeping an eye on the happenings through security and our mics."

"Right," Maryse said, turning to collect a couple of small objects the size of ring boxes from one of the people behind her. She moved forward and placed one in each Jace's and Isabelle's hands.

Jace opened the lid, spying one tiny earbud and a lapel mic. He closed his eyes briefly and shut the lid before opening them again.

Maryse started pacing the room once more. "Agent Lightwood's contact at the Agency has confirmed that Mr. Morgenstern's deal will go down at the ball. Part of our case is that we need to catch him in action. We will be planting several operatives within the building for that express purpose." She gestured to a couple of dark-haired larger men in the far right-hand corner. "Agent's Blackwell and Pangborn." She swiped her hand to the seat next to her. "Agent Madeline Bellefleur, and of course, myself. The rest of the people you see here will be in the near vicinity, ready to assist if necessary."

Jace's brows rose in surprise. It wasn't often the Director involved herself in the action. But, he supposed this wasn't a normal case, especially considering the added manpower in other locals.

"These will be your points of contact throughout the evening. Any questions you may have should be directed to them—though I don't recommend approaching them in public. Use the code on your phones and summon one of them to a private meeting place, if you must. You should not need to involve yourselves on their portion of the night's events. Keep your eyes on your client, she is your concern." She paused, swiping a hand down the front of her shirt, smoothing wrinkles that didn't exist. "Now, I would like to go over the specifics just in case anyone in the room is not quite clear. Miss Morgenstern will, at most times, be under the care of Agent Herondale." Her eyes settled on his. "I want you with her all night do you understand me, Agent?"

"What about when I retrieve the evidence?" Jace asked, speaking for the first time since he'd entered the building.

"Can't Miss Lightwood do that?"

Jace shook his head. "I'm the only one with the information, and," he added when he saw the Director's brow raise, "I believe the less people who know where to find it, the less of a chance we have of someone getting to it before we do."

Maryse didn't look thrilled with this plan, but Luke had entrusted this information to Jace, and he was determined to be the one to retrieve it. This evidence had Jocelyn's blood on it. It was what she'd died to bring to light. He would not let Clary's mother's—the one person in the entire world who had loved Clary enough to die for her—life be lost in vain.

"Very well," Maryse offered finally. "During the time in which Agent Herondale is occupied, Miss Morgenstern's well-being will fall to Agent Lightwood." Her eyes found Isabelle's. Isabelle nodded. "We are hoping things will move along smoothly and we can do what needs to be done without it causing much of a disturbance." Her eyes met Jace's. "But just in case it doesn't," she bent and retrieved three oblong containers under her seat and moved toward him, "use whatever force it takes to protect the evidence and your client. They must not fall into the wrong hands."

Jace reached out and took the box, his fingers shaking lightly as they wrapped around it, knowing what was inside. He flipped up the clasp on the front and tipped the hinged cover back. Nestled inside the velvet lining lay his Agency issued firearm. Shiny, cold, and black. His breath caught seeing it, touching it. Receiving the coveted Agency firearm was the peak of every achievement a Trainee could have. It was the last, and highly anticipated, step before receiving their permanent badge.

As if Maryse could hear his thoughts, she reached into the front pocket of her suit and drew out three slim, black, flip cases, handing one to each of them. Jace opened it, staring at his own face on the front of the badge, his throat nearly closing in on itself. The title, "Agent" occupied the space where "Trainee" donned his current one. He should have felt happy, proud, but looking at his official badge, all he felt was shame.

"Congratulations, Agents," Maryse said, her voice full of barely concealed pride, completely oblivious to what Jace was feeling. "You've earned it."

.o.O.o.

Clary lay on her bed, one hand under her cheek and the other twirling a pencil, round and round. Her sketchpad lay next to her, only a few curved lines and shaded patches on the open sheet. She couldn't concentrate enough to draw, the encounter with Jace earlier running through her mind over and over again.

Letting out an exasperated breath, she flipped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, noticing a few dead bugs trapped in the light fixture above her bed. Why was he pulling away? Did he not want her anymore? It didn't matter how many times he told her it wasn't her, his actions made her feel like it was. Why else would he refuse to see her, to touch her? Nothing else made sense.

Clary turned her face toward the nightstand next to the bed, the illuminated numbers on the clock mocking her. Eleven forty-nine. She closed her eyes. He wouldn't be coming tonight. Her chest tightened. God, did he have any idea how much she wanted him? Needed him? For just a little while, she needed to feel his arms around her, his heart beating against her chest, his breath in her hair. If she concentrated hard enough, she could remember what it felt like to have him wrapped around her, but thinking about it just made the ache and emptiness worse.

Just as she'd resolved herself to try to sleep, she heard the front door open and voices float down the hall to her room. One of the voices was deep, inviting, comforting. Bolting up in bed, she scrambled to throw on her pajama pants, and flung open her bedroom door. Isabelle and Simon turned to her, their eyes wide and mouths open in surprise.

"I thought you were sleeping," Simon said.

Clary's heart slammed in her chest, beating her ribs with the realization that Jace wasn't there. He'd never been there. It was Simon's voice she'd heard. She should have known. Anger ignited inside her.

"Where is he?" Her eyes fell to Isabelle, who looked at her with a slight bit of pity.

"Upstairs," she answered.

Clary nodded and moved forward, brushing past Simon and Isabelle and making her way toward the door.

"Clary—" Isabelle called, but Clary ignored her, flinging the door open and exiting out into the hallway.

She slammed it shut behind her, fully aware that it was late and she'd probably woken her neighbors, but she didn't care. Her feet padded along the dirty carpet as she hurried to the staircase at the end of the hall. Clary took the stairs two at a time, almost tripping twice. She made it to Jace's door less than a minute after leaving hers and pounded on it as hard as she could.

It only took a few seconds for it to swing open, a stunned Alec gazing down at her. Clary pushed past him and strolled into the apartment, her eyes set on Jace's shut bedroom door. She didn't stop or turn around when she heard Alec calling her name. There was only one person she wanted to talk to, and he was just within her grasp.

Blood sailed through her veins, the sound of it a rush in her ears. Every nerve in her body was coiled tight and ready to break. Clary didn't pause before pushing his door open, the knob smacking the wall with the force of her shove.

Jace stood at his dresser, turning around, eyes wide, when she burst in. "Clary? What are you—"

She reached behind her and slammed the door. Narrowing her eyes, she pointed at him. "Don't you ask me what I'm doing, what are _you_ doing?"

He held up the pair of shorts in his hands. "Jammies?"

Clary crossed her arms over his chest. "You know what I'm talking about, Jace."

Jace sighed and closed his dresser drawer, dropping the shorts on top. "I thought you'd be asleep."

"Bullshit."

He raised a brow. "Bullshit?"

"Yes," she nodded, "bullshit. You know damn well I wanted to see you and I would wait up for you."

"I told you I didn't know if I would come."

"God, Jace. What the hell is going on with you? Why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not—"

"Don't lie to me." She took a step forward. "I'm not a child. Whatever you have to say, I can handle it. If you want out, just say so. Don't jerk me around, ignoring me and making me feel like crap. Tell me."

He looked down at the floor and drew in a breath. "That's not what I'm doing."

"Then, what _are_ you doing? Please, help me understand what's going on here. Talk to me."

He just shook his head.

"Damn it, Jace, just—"

"I don't know! All right?" he shouted. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I don't—God-damn it!" He spun around, placing his hands against the top of his dresser and leaning against them. "I don't know," he said quieter.

"Jace . . ." She moved a little closer.

"Please, Clary." His voice cracked. "Please don't. I can't do this right now. You should go."

Her heart broke at the sound of his voice, at the pain behind it. "I'm not going anywhere."

He hung his head, his muscles going rigid under the tight wifebeater clinging to him. His jeans hung low on his hips, his body putting off every vibe for her to stay away. But she couldn't, she wouldn't.

Clary stepped up behind him, reaching up to lay her hands on his shoulders. He stiffened under her touch, but she didn't move away. A car horn blared outside, and wind rattled against the window pane. Leaning in, she touched her forehead to his back, nestling into the space between his shoulder blades.

"Please," she whispered, brushing her lips over his skin, once, twice, again and again. "Please. Let me in. Let me be here. Just . . . let me love you." Her hands slipped down his arms, feeling every contour of every muscle under her fingers. His warmth seeped into her as she pressed her chest against his back. Heat so hot it threatened to set her on fire. "Let me."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Jace shook his head. "Because I don't deserve it."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"You do."

"I don't," he said with more force, his voice rising as he whipped around and grabbed her, spinning her until her back was pressed against the dresser. The hard, round drawer-pulls dug into her flesh, but she tried not to wince. He was touching her, and even though it hurt, she didn't want him to stop. His hand gripped her hip and the other tangled in her hair. His chest rose and fell in fast, uneven breaths and he clenched his eyes tightly shut. "I don't," he repeated.

Clary swallowed hard. "You do," she said shakily. Lifting her hands, she slid them up his neck and cradled his face. "I love you. Of course you do."

"Please don't say that," he begged. "Please don't."

She leaned in, placing a small kiss to the base of his throat, feeling his pulse hammer against her lips. "I love you," she whispered again. "I'll always love you."

Jace made a sound, a whimper, a cry, Clary didn't know how describe it. But his arms circled her body and he fell to his knees, bringing her with him. He sat back on his heels and she straddled his legs, her fingers tracing the pained lines of his face. She wished she could erase them, smooth them out and make him whole again. His eyes had remained closed, but now, they opened slowly, and Clary gasped at the anguish staring back at her.

"I can't do it anymore," he said, his voice strained. "I just can't do it anymore."

"Do what?"

"Act like I don't care, like I don't want you. Like I don't love you." The defeat in his words was staggering. "Doing that is like depriving myself of air. Of telling myself I'm no longer allowed to breathe." He stared up at her, exhaustion and surrender radiating off from him. "I need to breathe. Please, let me breathe."

Clary wanted to ask him why he'd been acting that way in the first place. Why he thought he needed to. But in that moment, looking into his eyes and seeing the way he pleaded with her, she decided that those questions could wait until later.

Tipping her head down, she rested her forehead against his, her fingers ghosting along his stubble-lined jaw. His eyes locked on hers, asking, wanting, needing. Lifting her chin just slightly, she touched her lips to his. "Breathe, baby," she whispered.

Jace's hands drew up her sides, slowly following her ribs, tortuously making their way over her shoulders, and trailing along the side of her neck. He cupped her cheeks and pulled her back just slightly, looking into her eyes. She watched as they studied her, almost as if it were the last time they would ever see her. "I will never deserve you," he spoke carefully, pressing a finger to her lips and quieting her when she tried to protest, tracing them lightly as he drew it away. "But I promise, if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to."

Before Clary had a chance to respond, his lips were on hers, soft and gentle at first. His fingers slipped into her hair, lightly pushing it away as he cradled her face. She let her hands run over his shoulders, wrapping around his biceps, feeling them flex and release as he pulled her impossibly closer. But even as her body aligned with his, hips to hips, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, she still wasn't near enough. His mouth parted slightly and Clary took the opportunity to taste him, slipping her tongue between his lips. Mint and vanilla and Jace exploded around her. Suddenly, it was if she'd been starving and he'd finally offered her food. And she wanted more and more and more.

Her heart raced in her chest, and all she knew was the taste of him on her tongue, the smell of him wrapping around her like the most decadent scent in existence, and the feel of him, hard and strong under her fingers. He was all she wanted. He was all she ever wanted. His hands stayed on her face, but his mouth moved with hers, keeping up with her demands and her whispered pleas for more.

In answer to her request, he slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, and wrapped the other around her waist, quickly twisting them both around until she lay on the floor, with him hovering over her. Carpet fibers scraped against her elbows, but she didn't care. All that mattered was him.

She tugged against his shirt, wanting to feel his skin, all of his skin under her fingers. He reached behind and pulled it off, breaking the kiss only to bring it over his head. Her fingertips danced over his collarbone and pecs and abs, feeling them move when he did. He was so warm. So, so warm.

Clary hooked her fingers through his belt loops and pulled him flush against her. Their bodies collided, skin slipping over skin, fingers, hands, and lips exploring. It felt so good and so right to touch him that way, and to have him touch her.

Somehow, in the midst of everything, her clothes were gone and so were his. He was above her, around her, inside her. Moving, feeling, kissing, loving. His body taking hers, and hers receiving his. His hands and mouth and tongue were everywhere, but never anywhere. Everywhere he touched, her skin came alive, the sensation unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She couldn't get enough, have enough, _feel_ enough.

Her fingers dug into his back and her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, harder, deeper. She arched her back, partially in pleasure and partially to avoid the rough carpet below. Reading her mind, Jace tucked his hands under her and pulled her up onto his lap, his fingers now digging into her hips as she moved above him. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair, holding his face to hers, devouring his mouth, swallowing his breath. Clary dropped her head back as his hands moved to the small of her back and his lips lowered to her throat, sucking her flesh into his searing, wet mouth. Nothing existed but the slick warmth of each other's skin, the hot, ragged, panting breaths, hands and lips and tongues and teeth, moving over each other without course. They danced this dance to the perfect music only they could make together. Clary was certain it would never be this way with someone else. She never wanted it to be anyone else. Only his hands and his tongue and his teeth. Only his body pressed up against and moving with hers. Only Jace. Only ever Jace. Desire and sensation were all they knew, were all they needed to know as the rest of the world continued to spin without them.

Before long, they were both out of breath, clinging to each other's sweat dampened, exhausted bodies. Clary ran her fingers through the hair at the side of Jace's head, pushing the wet strands away from his face. She kissed a line along his jaw to his ear. God, she'd missed him so much.

Jace shuddered and Clary brushed it off as a shiver, but it didn't stop like a chill. She slid her hands down his shoulders and across his back, feeling the tense shaking in his body. It wasn't until she heard the soft, tortured intake of breath that she realized this wasn't a chill at all.

"Jace," she said, touching her fingers to his cheek and feeling dampness against her skin. But it wasn't the sticky, hot dampness of sweat. It was slick and tepid, like tears. Panic flooded her chest. She tried lifting his face but he just buried his nose harder into her shoulder. Clary closed her eyes, her throat swelling with concern. "Tell me what's wrong," she whispered.

For what seemed like the longest seconds of Clary's life, Jace didn't speak. His arms tightened around her, the trembling never lessening. After a moment, he began to rock, slowly, gently, just holding her to him. His breath puffed against her in uneven, jerking bursts, but made no noise. The only things Clary could hear were the beat of her heart racing in her chest, and the sound of her own breathing pulling raggedly through her teeth.

She turned her face into his hair, breathing him in as she threaded her fingers through the back of it. "Please," she asked again. "Please let me in."

"I love you," was all he said, his voice strained and muffled by her shoulder, the words barely making a sound. "I love you." Even though he had spoken that same phrase to her multiple times before, this time it was different. This time, it felt like an apology.

Clary couldn't understand why it would be an apology, why he would ever feel like he needed to be sorry for loving her. She decided she must have been imagining the sorrow in his voice as he'd spoken them. But still, his body shook as he curled around her, digging his fingers into the flesh of her back, gripping her firmly against him. This man—a man who had always been so strong, so confident—was falling apart in front of her. She wanted to know why, wanted to help, but he wasn't going to let her. At least, not now. Clary didn't know what to say or do, so she did the only thing she could. She tightened her embrace, tucked her face into his neck, and let him break in her arms.

* * *

_Thank you to my wonderful beta, Lightlacedwithbeauty. I love you, as always._

_Two weeks, my lovelies._

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_

_**Lyrics to the song "Baby" belong to Justin Bieber._


	27. The Beginning of the End

**26. The Beginning of the End**

_As the title suggests, we're getting there people! I hope you're ready…_

_A big HUGE *muah*-filled thank you to Lightlacedwithbeauty for betaing all 202,000 words of this fic so far. You are my girl!_

_Two weeks, my lovelies._

_XOXO ~ddpjclaf_

_P.S. Photos of Izzy's and Clary's dresses will be on my blog. :)  
_

* * *

_Chapter songs:_

_**Breathe – Anna Nalick_

_**Driveway – Great Northern_

_**Dancing – Elisa_

_*(Poem)She Walks In Beauty - George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron. 1788–1824_

* * *

Clary stared at her reflection in the long, oval mirror. Her red locks had been swept up and clipped at the back of her head. Long tendrils hung down, just brushing the tops of her shoulders and creating a frame of her face. She glanced from side to side, unsure if this was the right look or not. Jace preferred her hair down. He always took out her clips and ponytail holders when she wore it up. But Isabelle insisted that, with this particular dress, keeping her hair up would accentuate her shoulders and the deep, open back of the gown. As she stared, Clary had to admit Isabelle had a point.

A trio of tiny, sparkling spaghetti straps curved gently over her pale shoulders. The sheer layer of black and its lines of glittery beads hugged her figure perfectly, while the inner silk slip lay cool and soft against her skin. Clary slid her hand down the dip of her side and closed her eyes. Her mind drifted immediately to when Jace had done the same thing that morning.

She'd awoken curled into his chest, the sheets a tangled mess at their feet. His breath rose and fell against her as his fingers traced up and down the curve of her bare hip. She snuggled in closer and he bent to brush his lips on the top of her head. If there was any place on earth where she could spend the rest of her life, this was it. There, in his arms, tucked away from everyone and everything else. Clary lifted her chin and kissed the middle of his chest, not stopping until she'd traced a line up his neck.

Jace shifted next to her and gently pushed her onto her back. The warm softness of his skin sparked against hers. Her hands glided up his forearms and rested only once they moved over the arc of his shoulders. Their eyes met and Clary could see that his were not dull and tortured as they had been the night before. Now they shone, twinkled even, like he'd purged himself of everything that had been eating him up inside.

She wanted to ask him again what had happened, why he'd broken down and cried in her arms. But the look he gave her now suggested he had other ideas. He bent and touched his lips to her jaw, just under her ear, and whispered, "Good morning, baby."

Clary closed her eyes and smiled, letting the vibrations of his voice wash over her. "Good morning." She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. His mouth continued to work, peppering kisses over her flesh. "Jace . . .?"

"Hmm?" he hummed into her neck.

As much as she didn't want him to stop, she tucked her hands around his face and moved him to look at her. "Are you okay?"

His eyes moved from one of hers to the other, not a single thing hidden from her today. "Yes. I'm fine."

"But, last night . . ." She paused, unsure of how to go on.

Jace lifted a hand and trailed his fingers along her cheek. His gaze flitted over her face. "Last night I wasn't."

Clary sighed and reached out to move a lock of hair from his eyes. It was getting long. He needed it cut soon. "Are we going to talk about it?"

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded slowly before answering. "Yes. We'll talk about it."

Clary felt her chest warm and heart race. Was he finally going to open up about what had been bothering him?

Jace leaned in and touched his lips to hers, softly, chastely, before pulling back just a little. "But not right now." He brushed her hair out of her face. "Right now, I just want to look at you." And he did, his eyes moving over her like a precious piece of artwork. "And then, I want to touch you." His fingers trailed over her cheekbones, down her neck and between her breasts, tracing the curve of her waist and dancing over the side of her hip. Clary shivered. "And I want to kiss you." He followed the same line as his fingers with his lips and then worked his way back up. Clary could hardly breathe by the time his face hovered over hers once more. His own breath shook against her skin. "And then, I just . . . want you." He shifted and tucked his fingers under the bend of her knee, pulling it up and draping it over his hip as he moved on top of her. "Later," he whispered. "We can talk later."

Clary twisted her fingers into his hair and pulled him down to meet her. She nodded.  
"Later." And then his mouth descended on hers.

"Clary."

Clary gasped and raised her hand to her throat. Her pulse beat erratically against her fingers, and she was pretty sure it wasn't just because she'd been startled.

Isabelle stood in the doorway of Clary's bathroom. The red satin of her strapless dress wrapped tight over her bosom and hips, flaring out in folds the length of her legs. Sparkling stones decorated the fabric over her breasts and waist. Her dark hair hung in large, loose curls over her shoulders. One side had been pinned up with a gemstone encrusted comb. Two bracelets circled her wrist but her neck was bare.

"I can't decide which to wear." She held two necklaces in her hand. One was a simple gold chain with several dangling gemstones hanging on extensions from the front. The other was white-gold, a regular linked chain at the back but changed to swirling sections held together by small round rubies. Each swirled link had tiny diamonds lining the face, and at the very peak of the necklace hung a large, tear-drop shaped ruby.

Clary pointed to the second. "That one."

Isabelle glanced down at the ruby necklace. "That was my first choice."

"I figured." Clary smiled. She moved over to where Isabelle stood, took the necklace from her hand, and motioned for her to turn.

Isabelle did as Clary asked and gathered her hair in her hand. Clary draped the jewelry around the front of Isabelle's neck and fastened the clasp easily.

Isabelle turned and held her arms out to her sides. "So?"

"It's perfect," Clary said.

"Isn't it, though?"

A slow whistle came from the doorway. Clary turned toward the sound and spied Simon standing just inside the room. He wore standard black tuxedo pants and a white shirt. Clary was relieved to see he went with the black tie instead of the stupid looking bow-tie he seemed to love.

"You two look nice."

"Nice?" Isabelle asked, her brow raised.

"Well, I was going to say hot, but I figured that might earn me a punch in the gut."

Clary snickered and Isabelle looked contemplative. "No. Hot is fine," she said and started toward the door. When she reached Simon, she lifted her hand and tapped his cheek playfully. "You look . . . 'nice' too, Simon."

He beamed and turned as Isabelle breezed past him into the hallway. Clary shook her head and moved back to the floor length mirror. On her way, she grabbed a simple white-gold diamond necklace from her dresser. Simon stepped further into the room and came up behind her, taking the jewelry from her hand. He'd always helped her put on necklaces for as long as she could remember. She gazed at their reflection as he draped the necklace around her throat, the cool metal stinging her skin for a moment until it warmed. His brow was pinched in concentration while he willed to get his clumsy fingers to work the tiny clasp. Clary tried to hold back a giggle at the triumph on his face when he finally got it to latch.

Once he'd finished, Clary turned to face him. His dark eyes watched her carefully. A warm flush spread over her cheeks at the look he gave her.

"What?" she asked. "Do I look weird?"

"Weird was not exactly the term I had in mind."

"Oh, well, then what were you thinking?"

Simon paused. "The things I'm thinking would not be appropriate to say to my best friend."

Clary laughed and leaned in to hug him. "Thanks, Si." Her face snuggled into his chest and his arms went around her back.

"Anytime." He squeezed her gently before loosening his grasp. "Now, I should probably get out of here before your boyfriend rips off my arms and feeds them to a pack of rabid wolves."

"I was thinking alligators, actually." Jace's voice came from the doorway.

Clary stepped back and peered over Simon's shoulder. Jace stood leaning against the doorframe, his entire body swathed in black. Black pants, black button-up shirt, black suit coat slung over his shoulder. The topmost buttons of his shirt hung open and a black tie draped around his neck. Clary swallowed. Jace was always beautiful, but dressed as he was, the gold of his skin, hair, and eyes the only visible color, she'd never seen anything more stunning in her life.

"That's not funny," said Simon. "You know there are alligators in the sewers." He shuddered. "Big ones, too."

Jace stared at him incredulously and spoke dryly. "Great. Then I won't have to travel far to expose of your body."

"Simon, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Clary said.

He whirled around, his eyes wide and serious. "I'm not kidding. Eric saw one once."

"Honey," Clary stepped forward and placed a hand on Simon's cheek, "Eric is an idiot."

Simon backed away and narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Don't believe me. But don't come crying to me when one jumps out and drags you down into the rat infested underground."

He glared at Jace as he passed before exiting into the hallway. Clary snickered. Jace turned toward her, a small smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth. His eyes traveled down her body and back up slowly. The grin fell from his lips. She felt heat pool into her cheeks. When his gaze met hers, he said nothing.

Clary cleared her throat. "You look nice," she said quietly.

Jace pushed away from the doorframe and walked slowly into the room. He tossed his jacket on the bed and moved to stand in front of her. Her heart beat hard and fast against her ribs. His eyes stayed locked on hers as he reached up and traced the line of her face with his finger.

"_She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that 's best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow'd to that tender light, which heaven to gaudy day denies*," he_ said softly, his thumb brushing over her lower lip.

Clary raised a brow. "Lord Byron, Cass?" She gripped the sides of his partially opened shirt and pulled him into her. "You know you don't have to woo me with poetry, you already have me."

She expected a smug comeback, but Jace didn't offer one. He simply smiled and cupped her cheek. "I meant it. You're beautiful. You're always beautiful."

"And you're always such a sweet talker. It's not fair, you know."

"Get used to my superiority, Spitfire."

Clary feigned surprise. "My, my, aren't we cocky today?"

Jace wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her into him. "Every day, baby. Every day."

She giggled and threw her arms around his neck, stretching on tip-toes to kiss him. Before their lips met, Isabelle came into the room.

"Ah, ah. No kissing. You'll mess up your makeup."

Clary groaned and lowered herself back to the ground. "You're such a mood killer, Izzy."

"I worked hard to make you look that marvelous. You two can at least wait until we make an appearance before ruining it, can't you?"

"Fine, fine," Clary said, taking a step back from Jace.

Isabelle gave them a satisfied smirk and grabbed the wrap she'd left behind before stealing out the door. Clary frowned and was just about to turn back to Jace when she felt his hand wrap around the back of her neck. She gasped as he drew her in, her body colliding with his. Jace grinned, his mouth only centimeters from hers.

"Isabelle's going to kill you," she breathed.

"Does it look like I care?" he asked and touched his lips to hers. It wasn't hard or passionate, just soft and light, but still his kiss did things to her no one else's ever had before.

Clary held her breath for a few seconds after he pulled back. When she opened her eyes, she noticed his mouth was stained with the red of her lipstick. She smiled and reached up to rub it away, her thumb gliding slowly, carefully over his lips. She paused at the corner of his mouth and wanted to lean in and kiss him again, and again, and again. But she refrained and let her hands fall. They trailed down his chest, catching the ends of his tie in her fists.

"Why don't you have this tied?" She moved up and down the strip of fabric, her fingertips tracing the patch of bare flesh peeking out from his open shirt.

Jace looked down and grimaced. "Because I hate it. It's like I'm willingly choking myself to death."

Clary laughed and let go of the tie, reaching down to do up the buttons on his shirt. "You have to wear it, Jace."

"Why?" His hand splayed across the bare skin of her back, pulling her closer as he leaned down and touched his lips to her shoulder. He brushed them along her flesh until he met her ear. "Don't I look sexier without it?"

Clary shivered and fastened the last button. "Yes," she whispered. "Which is exactly why you need to wear it."

He chuckled and the warm puff of his breath against her skin made her shiver once more. "Your logic makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense." She crossed one end of the tie over the other and began making a knot. "For one: it will keep more of your gorgeous body from any other woman's eyes tonight. For two: I may just be able to hold onto enough restraint to not tackle you in a coat room or janitor's closet. For three," She finished tying the tie and adjusted the knot at his throat, then let her fingers trail along the smooth fabric, "at the end of the night, I'll have something to drag you off with." She tugged gently on the tie.

Jace's grip tightened on her waist and he pushed her backward until she hit the wall. Her breath came out in a whoosh. He pressed his body into hers until every part of him touched every part of her. "I think," he started, his hand running down her side until it slipped through the slit in her dress and spread across her thigh, "I like your logic."

"Mmhmm, I thought you might."

He grinned and moved his hand up, freezing when it met bare skin. His brows pinched together and he hooked his finger around the strap connected to the clip holding up her stocking. "Oh, Jesus," he groaned. "A garter belt? Are you trying to kill me, Spitfire?"

She draped her arms around his neck and smirked. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Cass."

Jace slid to the underside of her thigh and gripped her tightly, pulling her leg up. "Screw, the lipstick," he said, and then his mouth was on hers. So hard and fast, stealing her breath with his kiss.

Clary held onto him for dear life. She'd missed this passionate, playful side to him. Not that he hadn't been fervent, he'd just been different. An air of sadness and restraint had fallen over him lately. She didn't know why and he wasn't offering any explanations, but in this moment, it felt like it had in the beginning. Wild. Chaotic. Needful. The way he clutched at her, kissed her, held her, made her feel just as wanted as she wanted him.

"Aww, damn it!" Isabelle's voice came from the doorway.

Jace and Clary broke apart. Clary peered in the direction of the voice. Isabelle stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, her toes tapping the floor. Jace swiped his hand across his mouth and grinned. Isabelle rolled her eyes and swatted at them before retreating back toward the front of the apartment.

Clary snickered and grabbed Jace's hand. "We should go before we destroy any more of her hard work."

Jace fingered a curl at Clary's temple. "She did a nice job, but you don't need any of it." He leaned in and brushed his lips over her cheek.

Clary closed her eyes and squeezed his hand before opening them once more. She sighed resolutely. "Fine."

He glanced at her, his brows drawing together in confusion. "Fine what?"

"'Fine', you can feel me up in the car."

Jace grinned so large Clary thought his smile might split his face. "You're the best damn girlfriend in the entire world." He wrapped his arm around her waist, picked up his jacket from where he'd discarded it on the bed, and led her toward the door.

Clary glanced at him and returned his smile. "I know."

.o.O.o.

Jace kept up the easy banter of the morning, even though on the inside, he felt as if his heart were being squeezed in a vice. The release the night before certainly helped him gain a handle on whatever this feeling was—grief, anger, hopelessness—and at least function like a normal human being. It helped him hide once more. But it didn't make the fact that things were on the fast track to exploding all around him any less true. He still felt the aching tightness in his chest every time he thought about what they were all about to do, and when he considered the way Clary might look at him after the night was over. He just wanted to revel in the way she saw him now.

He stared out the window of the car Clary's father had sent for them and watched the lights of the city blur past him. The feel of his weapon holstered to his calf reminded him that this wasn't a regular night out. That this night was either the real beginning, or the end. People, buildings, and cars encompassed the world around them. Everyone oblivious to what was going on inside his head. Everyone, but him.

Clary sat at his side, holding his hand in hers, laughing and joking with Simon and Isabelle. Jace made sure to participate, crack jokes, and make fun of Simon all the way to Morgenstern's Upper East Side apartment. Only Isabelle seemed akin to his state of mind. Every so often he'd catch her eyes and see the underlying questions in them. He'd shaken his head slightly and turned to look out the window again, hoping she got the clue that he wasn't interested in her pity. They had a job to do, and he was determined to do it.

The long, black limousine pulled up outside one of the older apartment complexes in that section of the city. Jace stepped out of the car and peered up at the front of the building. A large canvas canopy covered the entrance to the white stone-faced building. A doorman dressed in a red uniform and matching stiff, red hat waited next to the entrance. Jace heard a rustling behind him and reached back into the car to help Clary out. She put her tiny hand in his and stretched one leg out of the vehicle. It slipped through the slit in her dress, giving Jace a peek at the elusive garter belt he'd felt earlier. He shook his head and smiled.

"You did that on purpose," he accused playfully, allowing one finger to trail the exposed leg.

She giggled and let him pull her the rest of the way out of the limo. "Why would I do that? You're paranoid, Cass." With a wink, she turned toward the building. Suddenly, her eyes widened and a huge grin lit her face. "Henry!"

The doorman did a double-take and a large smile spread over his lips when he spied her. She ran up to the man and threw her arms around his neck. He looked slightly abashed but still hugged her back. Simon and Isabelle exited the vehicle and joined Jace on the sidewalk. Moments later, Simon moved up next to Clary and hugged the doorman as well. Jace raised a brow at Isabelle and she just shrugged.

Clary waved them both forward and they complied. When they reached the doorway, Clary moved to Jace's side and tucked her hand through his arm.

"Guys, this is Henry. He's been the doorman here for as long as I can remember. Henry, this is Isabelle and Jace."

They all exchanged pleasantries and Henry held open the door for them, telling Clary not to be a stranger and to come around more often. _Yeah, not if I have anything to say about it_, Jace thought. The lobby to the building was a bit flashy for Jace's taste, marble this and marble that. Even though he did own his grandfather's place, this sort of thing had never impressed him. Looking around, Jace wondered why Clary never questioned how her father managed to afford such a place. Sure, he made good money, but he wasn't a business mogul or anyone who should have been able to afford these pricier apartment buildings. But he supposed when a child grew up like this, they didn't really ever question how or why.

All four of them piled into the elevator and rode up to the top floor—the penthouse. Clary's hand stayed in Jace's, her thumb brushing his knuckles the whole time. Jace squeezed her, wishing there was a way to stay like this forever. For her to look at him the same way. For her to stay with him. But he knew that the odds of that were pretty much nil.

The elevator opened into a large open foyer. The same white marble lined the floors, and vases of colorful, cut flowers graced a table next to the doors. A large, oval rug lay directly in front of the entrance and several abstract paintings hung on the walls at evenly spaced intervals. Even with the added décor, the place still felt sterile and unlived-in. At least, at the manor, the family had put some of themselves into it. It felt homey and welcoming despite its space. Morgenstern's place was cold and uninviting. Like no one actually lived there and everything was just for show. There was nothing to suggest a family had ever actually occupied the space. It was more like a museum.

A woman dressed in a traditional black and white maid's uniform walked over to them and took the girl's wraps. Jace rolled his eyes. He'd never been fond of the maid uniform unless it was used in play. He grinned at the thought.

Clary peered at him, her brows furrowed. "What are you smiling at?"

He shook his head, allowing himself to picture her in the outfit for just a moment. "Nothing." When she raised one brow he leaned in and whispered, "I'll tell you all my inappropriate thoughts later, baby."

Her cheeks turned a soft shade of pink and she elbowed him in the side. "We're at my dad's house, you perv."

He shrugged. Like that made a difference to him? She rolled her eyes and turned away. They moved through a nearly bare living area—containing only an uncomfortable looking couch, a chair, coffee table, and a large wall of windows—and into a dining room. Jace's Agent eye recognized every single face in the area. Some of them were inconsequential—wives or children to their businessman counterpart—but others had files almost as thick as Morgenstern's. He made a mental note of each and every person present and met Isabelle's eyes, pretty sure by the look on her face that she was doing the same.

A long rectangular table stretched the length of the space and at least twenty chairs had been laid out. Fancy dishes and an array of foods spread over the surface. Each chair was occupied except for six at the end. Behind two of them, stood Jonathan and Sebastian. Jace tried to keep the surprise from his face.

He knew about Clary's family connection to Sebastian's, but seeing him there gave Jace an odd sensation in his stomach. Almost like his two worlds were colliding in a way that knocked him off kilter. Both Jonathan and Sebastian stood started across the room toward them. Jace stiffened. He still wasn't quite sure how he felt about Jonathan. On one hand, the last time he'd come to see Clary, he'd been somewhat kind—but on the other, Jace still felt the need to introduce his fist to Jonathan's face. He still couldn't get the image of him grabbing her out of his mind.

Clary squeezed his hand and leaned in, practically reading his thoughts when she said, "Be nice."

"I'm always nice. How many times do I need to say that?"

"Enough until I'm sure you're not going to punch my brother in the face."

He scowled. "I will only punch him if he gives me a reason to."

"Jace," she reprimanded with a frown.

"That's the best I can do."

Jonathan and Sebastian stopped in front of them. Clary's brother eyed Jace suspiciously, and then met his sister's gaze. The two exchanged stiff hellos. Sebastian looked like his normal, laid-back self, a goofy smile plastered across his face.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he said to Jace. Bending in, he added, "I see you got suckered into this snoozefest too."

Clary elbowed Jace in the side before he could answer. "He did not get suckered, he came willingly. Thank-you-very-much, Seb."

Sebastian shook his head and coughed, "Whipped."

Jace tipped his head toward Clary and whispered, "Can I punch him?"

"Later, baby." She tugged on his arm and led him over to the table.

Jonathan had yet to speak again and just kept watching his sister's every move. Almost as if he were looking out for her too. Jace narrowed his eyes and studied the other boy. He seemed different than he had before. Not so cocky, not so sure. But that didn't mean Jace trusted him. He didn't know if he ever would.

Valentine looked up from his conversation on the other side of the room. At first his eyes darkened when he spied his daughter, and Jace got that same urge to put his fist through the man's face. Before this night was over, he was pretty sure someone was getting punched. It was just inevitable at this point. But then, Valentine smoothed his expression. He excused himself and made his way across the room. Jace clenched his hands into fists. Clary must have felt him tense because she squeezed his arm lightly. He relaxed.

"Darling," Valentine cooed and Jace almost let his fist fly. Who did this man think he was kidding? Every other time he'd been around Clary, he'd made his disdain for her obvious. Not only in the way he man-handled her, but also in the way he addressed her. But here, with his business associates and clients around to see, he acted like a doting father. "I'm glad you made it, and . . ." His eyes flitted over Jace and the others, a hint of annoyance flashing in his gaze. Jace was secretly pleased that his presence bothered the man. "And you brought friends. How lovely."

Valentine held his hand out to Jace. Jace just stared at him before Clary nudged him. "Please," she whispered, and Valentine narrowed his eyes.

Jace reluctantly held out his hand and the other man grabbed it, squeezing harder than necessary. Jace saw the warning in his eyes, but Jace squeezed back, not intimidated in the least.

After he'd greeted everyone, Valentine gestured to the table. "I'm glad you could all make it. Please, take a seat."

They all sat and Morgenstern set into some speech about how thankful he was to everyone in the room and blah, blah, blah. Jace tuned him out and continued taking in his surroundings. He wondered if there was any of Jocelyn Morgenstern left in this place at all. The way Clary talked about her, she'd been warm and kind and an artist, and this place did not look at all like someone like that had lived there. Everything was too linear, too neat, too OCD. It seemed to Jace that Valentine had deliberately erased any hint of his wife's existence from his life. What he didn't understand was why. As far as Luke had told him, Jocelyn never got the chance to end things with Morgenstern. Why would he completely remove her presence from his home? It didn't seem like the type of thing a mourning widower would do. The insinuation that Jocelyn's death was no accident and that Morgenstern was at least partially behind it became stronger and stronger in Jace's mind.

Valentine continued on with his speech. It seemed to be just a great big suck-up fest to Jace. After a bit, Sebastian mimed hanging himself with his tie, and his mother elbowed him in the side. Clary stifled a giggle and Simon choked on his water. It seemed Jace wasn't the only one bored out of his mind. Isabelle had a look of thinly veiled disgust on her face as she watched Morgenstern parade around the room, his words and motions growing more and more grand as he proceeded. She caught Jace's eye and rolled hers just slightly.

Other than the younger people around Jace, everyone stared at Valentine with rapt attention, like they were actually interested in listening to him brag about himself and his accomplishments. Just as Jace thought his mind was going to explode from the absolute falseness surrounding him. Clary reached under the table and squeezed his leg. He glanced over at her and she wore the same sickened look he was sure he did.

"At least the food is good," she offered with a shrug, as if she needed to make an excuse for being there with her pompous father. "It'll be over soon."

Jace smiled and placed his hand on top of hers, hoping the gesture would let her know that her father's idiocy had no bearing on how he thought of her.

"I know this sucks. Thanks for coming with me."

Jace leaned into her, and with all the sincerity he'd ever felt lacing his words, he whispered, "I'd go anywhere for you, Spitfire." And then, "Even to a place where only narcissistic assholes worse than myself roam—and I didn't think that was possible."

She giggled and laid her head on his shoulder. "Neither did I."

And this was what made all of this worth it. Her. He bent and brushed his lips on the top of her head, not missing the glare coming from the other end of the table. Jace didn't bother to stifle his grin.

.o.O.o.

Clary waited near the elevator for Jace to return with her wrap. Usually the maid did those things, but for whatever reason, Clary's father had fired her in the middle of dinner. Clary wasn't even sure what the girl had done, but her father hadn't hesitated to belittle her and throw her out right in front of everyone. He had seemed overly agitated that evening. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding and he'd hire the girl back—though Clary wouldn't blame the girl if she never set foot in the building again.

Clary had never been so happy for one of these dinners to be over. When it had just been her and Simon, she'd never really paid attention to what was going on around her, but this time, with Jace to one side and Simon on the other, she'd been utterly embarrassed by her father's display. She'd always known he was an arrogant bastard, but had never realized how much he talked himself up before. It mortified her that her friends had to witness it. _Never again_, she promised herself. This was the last time she'd let her father or Jonathan guilt her into coming to one of these things. Their mother was gone, and from how Luke told it, she wanted out of this life too. Jocelyn hadn't lived long enough to escape, but Clary would. For her mother and for herself, she would get out.

Isabelle and Simon stood in the corner laughing and conversing with Sebastian. This was the first time he'd made it to the dinner portion of the evening. It had been nice to see him. He and Simon at least provided some comedic relief from the monotony of her father's bragging.

The last of the partygoers moved past her into the elevator. Clary shuffled aside as her father escorted them out. When the doors slid shut, he turned to her, his eyes cold and judging.

"Clarissa," he said, his tone matched his eyes.

"Father," she responded, a slight bit of mocking to her voice. "Nice party."

He narrowed his eyes. "Sarcasm does not become you, child."

He took a step toward her, and she took one back. Valentine stopped and raised one brow. It wasn't intentional on Clary's part, but for some reason, she didn't want to be closer. Valentine grinned, apparently pleased by her admission of intimidation. She cursed herself for giving him that impression, but she couldn't help it. Something was strange about him tonight. He took another step forward and Clary's back hit the wall. His smile grew larger.

"I expect your friends will behave at the ball tonight, Clarissa."

Clary felt anger shoot through her. "And why wouldn't they, Father? They're not animals."

He turned and studied Simon, Sebastian, and Isabelle. "Hmm," was all he said. And then, "Yes, well, that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

Finally, Clary couldn't hold it in anymore. "You know, not everyone feels like they have to have the approval of everyone." His eyes flashed, but she continued. "I mean, what was all that about tonight? Since when do you feel the need to talk yourself up to these people? I don't understand why you care what they think—"

Valentine reached out and grabbed her jaw, just as he'd done in the café. His fingers dug into her flesh. "Of course you don't understand, because you are a child. A child who doesn't know anything about anything or when to keep quiet." His hand shook against her face, and Clary could see he was about to crack. Something was going on with him that she'd never witnessed before. Behind that carefully constructed façade, he was panicking. Her father had always been somewhat unapproachable, but she'd never been afraid before. This time, she was afraid. "You have too much of your mother in you, Clarissa, and if you're not careful—"

A throat cleared. "Father."

Valentine dropped his hand and turned. Jonathan stood behind him, his dark eyes focused on their father in a way Clary had never seen before. "What is it, son?" Valentine asked, annoyed.

Clary let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. It shook as it passed her lips. In that moment, she saw Jace re-enter the foyer, his stare ablaze and body stiff. He glanced between Clary's cornered stance against the wall, her father directly in front of her, blocking her path, and Jonathan behind him. She was sure it looked like exactly what it was, but she didn't want Jace in the middle of it. God, she hoped he stayed where he was.

"The car is downstairs," Jonathan said. Clary could tell he was trying to control his voice.

Valentine smoothed his hands down the front of his suit jacket. "Very well. Thank you, son." He turned back to Clary and narrowed his eyes. "Remember what I said, Clarissa. Keep your friends in line." With that, he stepped away from her and exited into the elevator.

When the doors closed, Jonathan reached out to touch her face. Clary flinched involuntarily, and he withdrew before making contact with her, hurt flashing behind his eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She looked up at him and saw the sincerity in his face. There he was. The brother she'd missed, the one she had been wishing would come back. A lump crowded into her throat and she couldn't answer, so she nodded instead.

Jonathan nodded in return and turned to leave, but paused just before the elevator doors. "Be careful tonight, Clary." He glanced back at Jace, and then Clary again. "Stick close to him."

Clary frowned and started to ask him what he meant, but he was gone before she could get the words out. Jace was in front of her when she turned back around. The look on his face held so many questions, but she didn't want to answer any of them right then. Tears stung her eyes and she pitched forward, throwing her arms around his neck. The wrap he held fell at their feet as he encircled her in his embrace. One hand tucked around her waist and the other held the back of her head. He bent down and turned his lips toward her cheek. Only the feeling of him against her and his whispered words existed in the space surrounding her.

"It's all right, baby. It's all right."

.o.O.o.

Clary's hand still trembled slightly in Jace's as they entered the grand ballroom at Morgenstern's law firm. Tall, vaulted ceilings towered above them and twinkling strands of lights wrapped in thin, white gauzy material draped across it like a tent. The fabric fell from above and trailed down the walls, gathering into a pool of white on the floor. On each table sat a three tiered candelabra and various bowls filled with water and floating gold and white candles. The soft, yellow glow of the candlelight set the mood in the large space. Sconces with frosted glass and flickering flames lined the walls.

Jace had to admit this was not what he had been expecting. It was still one of those uppity parties he had no interest in attending normally, but if the real reason for his presence there hadn't been hanging over his head, he may have actually thought it was nice. He had a beautiful girl at his side. A girl who loved him, who wanted him. Outside of that, nothing else really mattered. Not the snobbish crowd congregated around them, and not the overly expensive wine and hors d'oeuvres. Only her.

Clary guided him through the crowd over to a round table near the back of the room. There were several people sitting around it already, but Jace didn't yet take the time to notice who. Neither of them sat and Clary started talking to someone beside her. He heard her laugh and felt her hand in his, but other than that, he was no longer there. His mind was all over that room, taking in and memorizing everything he could.

From the corner of his eye, Jace spotted Maryse near the champagne fountain, conversing with a man he didn't know. Turning his head, he met her gaze and offered a short nod. Maryse returned his acknowledgement with a small smile. He continued to survey the room, noting the exits off to the left, the door to the kitchen, and the main one in which they'd entered. Once or twice, his eyes swept over one of the operatives sent from the Agency. Everything seemed to be set. All he needed to do was follow through on his end. He knew he was obsessing over the logistics of where everyone and everything was situated because he didn't want to think about what this night inevitably meant. If he could keep his focus on the job, he may be able to keep hold of this semblance of control.

"Everything all right?" Alec's voice crackled through his earpiece.

Jace tapped his lapel twice in the signal he, Isabelle, and Alec had decided meant yes before they parted. He couldn't very well speak to himself without arousing suspicion.

"Good. My source revealed that Valentine's deal will go down after the toast, so be ready to move."

Jace tapped two more times, then pressed against the mic to turn it off. He caught Isabelle's eye and she inclined her head slightly to let him know she was up to speed. People in fancy dresses and expensive suits swirled around them. Some dancing, some laughing, some just talking. Jace couldn't seem to concentrate. There was too much happening, too many things his mind kept focusing on, worrying about. Everything had to go right. If it didn't, not only could Clary be in danger, but there would be no way he could explain things to her in a way she might understand.

It had been so long that his job had prevented him from being honest with her, but after tonight, after Valentine Morgenstern was taken down, he could finally let her in. He had no idea how she would react, no idea if she could forgive him for how much he'd lied to her. But after last night, after she'd seen him at his lowest, he wanted to believe that she would remember that and know that those were the times he'd been most truthful. That when he said he loved her, he meant it with everything in him.

Jace felt a tug at his hand. He glanced down to find Clary staring up at him. Her brows were furrowed and her green eyes wide.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. You just seem . . ." She reached up and smoothed her finger down the space between his eyes. "You always get this line right here when you're worried."

He smiled and tried to cover the flinch caused by the pang in his chest. "Should I be flattered or freaked that you seem to know all my facial expressions and lines?"

She grinned and lifted his palm, placing it against her face. "Don't you know mine?"

Jace swallowed and let his thumb run along her cheekbone. Did he? Did he know them all? He wasn't sure, but knew he wanted to. He wanted to know everything. He studied her closer, watching as creases formed in her brow and her eyes grew slightly wider. Reaching up, he placed his other hand along the opposite cheek and cupped her face between them. The ache he'd been trying to suppress all evening came back, and with it, the realization that this could be the end. The last time he touched her like this. The last time she let him hold her, love her, kiss her. It pressed in on him, squeezing every last drop of breath from his lungs and leaving him struggling to maintain his composure. It didn't matter what he wanted, what mattered was what she wanted. And after she knew, she may not want him.

"Of course I do," he said quietly, the words painfully crawling up his throat. "I know every inch of your face." His eyes moved back and forth between hers. "Every inch," he repeated.

Clary ran her hands up his back, underneath his suit jacket, and tilted her chin. Jace closed his eyes and bent, meeting her kiss halfway. Her lips were soft and warm like usual, but this time, touching them did not make him feel joy. It made him feel pain. Excruciating, torturous pain. Yet, he could not stop. It was like he needed to feel it. Deserved to feel it. His hands slid from her face and down her back, the heat of her skin searing his. He pulled her in and wrapped her up as tightly as he could. His heart beat hard against his ribs and he wondered if she could feel it against hers. The only thing he could do, the only thing he wanted to do was hold her. And he did, and he would, for as long as she'd let him.

After a moment, she pulled back, only far enough to meet his eyes. "We're dancing," she whispered. And Jace realized they were, swaying slowly, arms wrapped around each other, hips to hips, chest to chest. She was so warm and alive. And she was his. All his. He wanted her to stay his.

He touched his forehead to hers. "We are."

Clary smiled and squeezed him tighter. "I could dance with you forever."

Jace sucked in a breath and clenched his eyes shut once more. The pain in his chest spread outward, making him feel as if his entire body were made of glass and was splintering under her words. If he could, he would give her forever. He wanted forever too. He tried to calm himself, to breathe, but everything he did hurt more. It was like his body could no longer handle the secrets and lies. Could no longer keep them bottled inside and was breaking apart from the pressure. Even his breath threatened to destroy the fragile bubble surrounding them.

"Jace," Clary said, her hands clasping the back of his neck. "You're shaking."

He looked down at her, seeing all the love and concern in her eyes. "I know."

Her face broke with his admission. "Please. _Please_ tell me what's wrong."

Jace shook his head, but she grabbed his face, making him look her in the eyes.

"Please," she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.

"I—" God, he wanted to tell her. The words sat at the tip of his tongue. Every confession of every lie. Every thought and feeling and desire, all crowding there and begging for him to give in. "I—"

"There you are!" Isabelle's voice broke into his thoughts.

Jace glanced up, his body wound so tight, he wondered if Isabelle could see the trembling Clary had felt.

"I've been looking for you," she said, eyeing Jace carefully. "They're getting ready to do the toast and Jonathan needs Clary." She glanced at Clary.

Clary let out a steadying breath and looked at Jace apologetically. "Worst timing ever." She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek before whispering, "I'll be right back."

Jace nodded and watched as she walked away. This was it. No more stalling. No more pretending and wishing he wasn't what he was and she wasn't who she was.

Isabelle grabbed his arm. "Take a minute. Get yourself together," she said quietly and without judgment. He glanced at her. Her eyes softened and she squeezed him lightly. "It's almost over."

"I know," he said, his gaze following Clary as she moved through the crowd toward the front table. Finally, he turned back to Isabelle. "Don't let her out of your sight."

"Go," she said. "I've got this."

Jace nodded, and with one last glance, turned toward the side exit. He didn't look back as he slipped through the doors into the dimly lit hallway. Pausing just on the other side, Jace leaned back against the door and took in a breath. The lingering effects of his emotional onslaught clung to him like a shroud. He needed to shake them off in order to focus. It should have been easy, it always was in the past, but this time it didn't want to let go. Shoving aside as much as he could, Jace pushed away from the door and started toward the small window at the end.

All the doors to the office hallways were locked, and even though Jace could pick those, he didn't want to risk being caught since anyone from the ball could come out here to use the restrooms. His only access would have to be from the exterior. Outside the window was a narrow, metal fire escape. After slipping on a pair of gloves, as carefully as he could, Jace slid the window open and crawled outside, bitter wind and a rumble of thunder meeting him as he straightened. He closed the window once more and glanced above him. Reaching up, he grabbed the metal ladder and pulled it down. It squeaked as it moved and lowered with a crash against the pavement. With one last look around, he wrapped his hands around the cold rung and started to climb. The soles of his shoes clanged on each step. No matter how quiet he tried to be, he couldn't help that.

Luke's instructions were to go to the ladies restroom on the fourth floor. He'd said Jocelyn had hidden the box under a sink there. Jace climbed the stairs, focusing on his task. Without Clary at his side, slipping into Agent mode wasn't as difficult as he feared. It was all second nature to him now.

Jace reached the platform outside the fourth window in no time, peering back down to make sure no one had followed. He saw nothing. Digging in his pocket, he withdrew a small, black kit and removed a thin, sharp object, sliding it through the crack in the window frame. He jiggled it for a moment, and it finally caught the lock, sliding it open with ease. Replacing the tool, Jace opened the window and slipped into the corridor.

Once inside, he pressed the mic on his lapel to turn it back on. "I'm in," he said.

"Okay, I've got the cameras on a loop so you're good there," Alec answered.

"All right. Standby."

Jace continued quietly down the hall, peeking through every cubicle along the way, just to make sure no one was there. All the office doors were closed and locked, and lights were off, so he didn't bother with those. There was no noise, only the sound of his footsteps shuffling along the carpet and the air blowing through the vents. Finally, just before he reached the end, he came to a door marked as "Ladies". Taking one last look around, he pushed it open. It was dark inside. He reached over and felt along the tiled wall until his fingers found the switch.

Bright, fluorescent light flooded the room. He moved slowly inside, checking every stall as he was trained to do. When he made sure no one had been hiding out in the dark, he knelt in front of the sink furthest from the door, scanning the tile work below. To the untrained eye, no one would have noticed the hairline crack in the grout surrounding four indiscriminate white tiles. But Jace saw it. He dug in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the small black kit once more. From inside he drew out a short, flat file and stuck it between the tiles. He wiggled it back and forth until he felt a little give. Sticking the file back into his kit and stowing that in his pocket, Jace stuck his finger under the corner and popped the four tiles out in one piece.

Carefully, he lay them aside and peered into the space behind. Dust floated from inside, but even through that, he could see a handkerchief wrapped package nestled in the back corner. He reached in, his fingers breaking cobwebs and touching things he didn't even want to think about before he felt fabric. A flood of relief washed over him. Almost there.

Wrapping his fingers around the object, he pulled it out. It was small, only the size of the palm of his hand. He peeled the covering back and revealed what hid underneath. The box was made of gold and was covered in the same swirling designs as the locket. At the very front where a clasp normally sat was an indent in the shape of two hearts side-by-side, with strange extensions spiking off from each. In a circular pattern around the hearts were lines, each fifth one longer than the four between it and the next. Jace realized at once that they were number markers, and there were tons of them. Tiny, skinny lines going all the way up to one hundred.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the gold locket Luke had given him and opened it carefully. Once it lay flat in front of him, he inserted it into the box and heard a click when it was all the way in. Jace grasped the center hinge and started turning clockwise, stopping at the first number—one—then turning counter-clockwise like a combination lock to the next—sixteen. He worked slowly, making sure to hit each number that the slip of paper in Clary's fake locket supplied. One mess-up and he'd have to start over. He didn't have time to start over.

Finally, with his breath held, Jace twisted the locket to the last number and heard a soft click. The top popped and Jace felt his heart speed. Opening it slowly, he peered inside. Two flash drives and a folded piece of paper stared out at him. He pocketed the memory sticks and the box quickly, but his fingers lingered over the paper. Luke had mentioned the drives but said nothing about a note. On the outside, Luke's name had been scrawled across the middle. Jace swallowed, contemplating whether or not to look when he heard a resounding click behind him.

Shoving the paper into his pants pocket, Jace whirled around, his eyes zeroing in on the barrel of a gun. His fingers lowered to his calf and he felt the handle of his own weapon under the fabric of his suit pants.

"Ah, ah, ah," a female voice chided. "Hands where I can see them."

Jace slowly moved his hands palm out in front of him and raised his gaze. A woman stood in the doorway. Her hair was a riotous mess of curls frizzing around her head and her eyes glowed with certain triumph. She thought she'd surprised him.

He looked up, met her stare, and grinned. "I wondered when we might finally stop screwing around. I've been waiting for you, Maia."


	28. Fall from Grace

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

* * *

**27. Fall from Grace**

I hope this chapter answers some of your questions (well, most, but some answers are still coming!). I shall be hiding away in my cave. :P (Please be gentle, heh.)

A big thanks to Lightlacedwithbeauty for helping with this beast and for asking questions to help me clarify. Love you always.

Two weeks! xoxo ~ddpjclaf

_Chapter songs:_

_**The Kill – 30 Seconds to Mars_

_**Running Up that Hill - Placebo_

_**What Lies Beneath – Breaking Benjamin_

_**My Love – Sia_

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The quiet whoosh of the heat flowing through the vents was the only sound in the room. Jace stayed, still squatting, near the far sink, his eyes locked on Maia. She cocked her head to the side, confusion evident on her face.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," she said.

"I'm not." Jace shrugged. "I really hope you don't quit your day job. You're not very good at this whole secret stalker business."

Maia grinned. Though Jace could tell it was more out of annoyance than humor. "Yes, well, I was good enough to get this far."

"You only got this far because I allowed you to."

The smile fell from her face. "How did you know?"

Now it was Jace's turn to smirk. "Your sweatshirt."

She raised a brow in question.

"The one with the fraternity crest. The wolf. You should probably wear different clothes in public than you do while out on your stalking duties. You never know who might be watching, or better yet, recording."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," she said impatiently, her foot tapping the hard tile. "Stand up."

"Really? You want me to stand? Don't you enjoy having me kneeling before you, all vulnerable and helpless?"

Maia laughed. "You're anything but helpless in any position, Agent. I know enough about you to know that. I just want you farther away from that gun strapped to your calf." She nodded toward his leg. "Now, stand up. Just keep your hands in front of you."

Jace rose slowly, his palms up and facing outward. Alec's voice crackled in his ear.

"I'm sending backup."

Jace bumped his lapel once with his arm in the signal for "no". He could handle this, no problem.

"Don't be reckless, Jace. Wait for backup."

He ignored Alec's warnings in his ear. "You're pretty brave, confronting me by yourself. Either that or extremely stupid."

She glared. "I'm not afraid of you."

The barely discernible trembling of her hand revealed her lie. He nodded toward it. "Your body says otherwise. It seems to be smarter than you."

"Shut up!" Maia's hand shook more around the gun. She tried to stop it, but scarcely managed. She was getting flustered. Good. That was exactly how Jace wanted her.

"I don't get one thing," he said. "Why pretend to be friends with Clary? Was that really necessary to achieve your goal?"

"I don't know, Jace. Was it necessary to sleep with her to achieve yours?" Jace felt his entire body stiffen at the question, but tried his hardest not to let her see. She cocked her head to the side and smiled. "Because that would make you . . . what? A whore?" Maia pretended to think about her question. She removed one hand from the gun and reached up to tap her chin in mock concentration. "Why, yes. I believe it _does_ make you a whore, Agent Herondale." Maia took a few steps further into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind her. "How does that feel Jace? To know you're getting paid for sleeping with her. How will it make Clary feel when she finds that out?"

Jace fought against the anger swelling inside him. It would not help him if she saw how her words cut him. "I guess you and I are not so different then, are we, Maia?"

"I suppose," she answered. "With one major exception."

"Of course. I'm the good guy, and you're the bad guy."

"Not quite," Maia offered. "You're in love with her, and I could care less." She started to pace back and forth in front of him, the gun never leaving its position level with his chest. "You see, this is nothing but a job for me. A way to make ends meet. I don't care about Clary or what happens to her after this is all over—though it would tickle me to watch your downfall. But for you—well, you broke the cardinal rule of Agenthood. You fell for your client." She paused and stared at him. "But, I'm glad you did. It made my job so much easier. She was distracted. You were distracted. Your partners were distracted. You gave me every opportunity I needed to do my job. So, I suppose I should be thanking you."

"I wouldn't start congratulating yourself quite so soon."

"Oh, yeah? Why not? I have you up here all alone." She gestured to him with the gun. "And, do you think I don't know about your little Agent friend barking in your ear? No one will get to you on time; I've made sure of that."

"And how's that?"

"Simple." Maia shrugged. "If anyone interrupts us, I'll take it out on your little girlfriend."

Heat flooded to Jace's face and he dropped his hands to his sides.

"That got your attention, Agent?" She laughed. "You know, you all thought you were so smart. You come up here to retrieve the goods, Isabelle stays behind to keep an eye on Clary, Alec watches over things from afar. All your little Agents scattered all over the place. Oh, yes, we know all of them and where they are. Do you think we wouldn't have been prepared?"

"Who are you working for?" Jace asked, his fists clenched so tight he could feel his nails digging into his palm.

Maia raised a brow. "You want to know? Well, come." She stepped back a few paces and pushed open the bathroom door. "Let me introduce you."

.o.O.o.

Clary stretched on tip-toes, trying to see over the heads of all the partygoers in the crowd. She was looking for Jace in the sea of people before her, but she didn't see his blond head anywhere. Her father had just about finished his toast. Simon stood at the front of the throng, his hands clasped tightly together. His mouth hung slightly slack and Clary knew he'd escaped into his own head for the time being. She stifled a giggle.

Jonathan shifted at her side and leaned in. "What are you laughing at?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just Simon."

Jonathan frowned as he studied her best friend. "What's he doing?"

"I have no idea. Probably replaying the last level of Halo in his head."

He stared at Simon for a minute before looking back at Clary. His dark eyes regarded her carefully. Clary got the impression he was trying to make a decision. "Can we talk?"

"We are talking."

"I mean someplace private."

Alarm bells went off in Clary's mind. She didn't know why. Maybe it was all the suspicion Jace had over her brother that had her worried. "I—" She glanced down at Isabelle who was now fiddling with Simon's tie that had somehow gone crooked since the last time Clary had looked at him. He was trying to bat her hands away. Her eyes drifted back to Jonathan's. His were desperate. "What about Dad's speech? He'll be angry if we leave."

"I don't care," Jonathan said. "This is important."

Clary took one last peek at Simon and Isabelle—they were arguing visibly—and nodded. "Okay."

Relief flooded Jonathan's eyes and his shoulders loosened. "Good." He took her arm and tucked it through his. "Follow me."

Slowly, the two of them backed away from the head table. All eyes were on their father so no one seemed to notice them leaving. Jonathan led Clary to a door way hidden behind a swag of fabric. He held it aside and gestured her through. Clary walked through and found herself in an empty hallway. Jonathan stepped inside after her and closed the door, pausing with his back pressed against it for a moment before looking up at her.

Finally, he straightened and started toward her. Clary stepped back instinctively. She didn't like the nervous air radiating from him. He stopped, almost as if he realized how anxious he was making her.

"Jonathan, what's going on?"

He raised a hand to his light hair, and Clary noticed it shaking. "Clary, you need to get out of here."

"What? Why?"

"I—" A riot of applause broke out from behind the closed door. Jonathan's head turned toward it for a moment before he looked back. He closed his eyes briefly and opened them again. They were large and contained an emotion Clary hadn't seen in them in a long time. Fear. "Please. I don't have time to explain everything, but—I know you don't trust me and I don't blame you. But if you ever have—ever in your life, please, just listen to me now."

"You're scaring me." Clary took another step back, feeling the weakness in her knees.

"I know." Jonathan came toward her. "But, Clary, I'm just trying to protect you. You know our father is—well, he's not a good man. So, I need you to trust me when I say, you need to leave now."

Clary studied Jonathan's expression and it was nothing but pure honesty. A thrill of fear rocked through her. "I can't leave without my friends—" She moved to go back through the door, but Jonathan reached out a hand to stop her.

"You can't. If they see you—I'll get your friends. Please, you just need to—"

The door behind them opened and a very drunk Sebastian stumbled into the corridor. "Hey!" He grinned and dragged out the word. "What's up, guys?" Looking around, he frowned. "This isn't the bathroom."

Jonathan scowled, grabbed Sebastian by the arm, and thrust him toward Clary. "Take him and go to the roof. There's a helicopter on the way." Clary went to protest but Jonathan cut her off. "Please, Clary. Don't be stubborn right now. I'll make sure your friends make it out. Just go." He shoved the two of them toward the elevators and disappeared back into the ballroom.

For a moment, Clary and Sebastian just stared at each other.

"What was that all about?" Sebastian's words were slurred and elongated.

Clary rolled her eyes and tucked her hand around his waist. "I don't know, but let's get going. The others will be waiting for us." She hoped. Somehow, she didn't doubt Jonathan. There was something in his eyes that made her believe he was being honest. But, she was afraid he wouldn't be able to get to all her friends. Isabelle and Simon had been standing in the front, but Clary had no idea where Jace had gone.

She dragged Sebastian into the elevator and pressed the button for the roof terrace—another of her mother's brilliant ideas. The helipad, on the other hand, had been her father's. He was always receiving rich, out of town clients so he'd insisted on half of the roof being converted for their arrival.

The doors closed and the elevator hummed to life. It slowly raised, the buttons lighting and a chime ringing on every floor. Sebastian leaned heavily on her, his breath smelling of Vodka and lime. She glanced up at the lighted board, watching the numbers change as they ascended. God, she hoped Isabelle, Jace, and Simon were on their way. What was happening that Jonathan so desperately wanted her out for? Yes, she knew her father was up to something, but what could be so bad that she needed to get out now? And why couldn't she have taken a few more minutes to gather her friends? A nervous lump formed in her stomach.

Finally, the last bell chimed and the doors slid open to the glass enclosure on top of the roof. Clary stepped out, hauling Sebastian with her. She crossed the floor of the enclosure and opened the door to the outside. A gust of frigid wind blasted against her and caused her to shiver. Thunder rolled and lightning flashed, illuminating the dark sky and displaying the thick, black clouds overhead. The doors to the elevator slid shut and Clary heard it descend, probably to bring Simon, Jace, and Isabelle up. She relaxed slightly at the thought.

"Cold?" Sebastian asked.

Clary lifted her hands and ran them over her goosebump covered arms. "Yeah, I didn't have time to grab my wrap."

"Here." He handed her his jacket.

She draped it over her shoulders, and he stepped away, looking briefly to the other side of the terrace and back. Something about the way he gazed at her gave Clary an uncomfortable twinge in her chest. And then she realized what it was. She tilted her head to the side and studied him. His eyes were completely clear, he no longer slouched, and his words were not slurred.

"You sure sobered up quickly."

Sebastian grinned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Shaking one out into his hand, he pocketed the rest of the pack, cupped his palm around the end, and lit the cigarette. He inhaled deeply and smiled as he exhaled, a plume of smoke exiting from the corner of his mouth. "I suppose the cool weather will do that for you."

Clary took a few steps back, nearly tripping over a planter situated just along the outskirts of the patio. "Since when did you start smoking?"

Sebastian withdrew the cigarette from his mouth and looked at it for a moment before reaching behind him and pulling something from his belt. "About the same time I started carrying this." He brought his hand back around, and in it, he held a shiny, black gun. Clary gasped and stumbled back a few more steps.

"What are you—"

He moved forward, his gait sure and determined. "I'm really sorry about this."

She tried to turn and run, but Sebastian was faster. He lunged, reached out, and grabbed her, his fingers wrapping tightly around her arm.

.o.O.o.

"God, Simon, would you just hold still?" Isabelle whispered in a harsh, annoyed voice.

"That's too tight!" Simon stuck his fingers in the space between the knot in his tie and his neck. He swore she was trying to choke him to death.

"It has to be like that or it just looks sloppy." She jerked the tie back up and Simon gagged when it hit his Adam's apple.

"I knew I should have worn the bow tie."

Isabelle met his eyes and scowled. Even scowling, Simon thought she was beautiful. "You're just determined to stay a dork forever, aren't you? You have to know you have more potential than that."

"I do?" he asked, actually stunned she'd given him such praise.

She rolled her eyes. "Please. Fishing for compliments is pathetic."

"I'm not. No one ever gives me any, so excuse me if I was a little shocked."

"Come on now, Simon. Clary compliments you all the time."

Simon made a "pfft" sound through his lips and waved his hand in front of him. "She's my best friend; she's supposed to say stuff like that."

Isabelle tugged on his tie and pulled him into her. He could feel her against his chest. "No," she said, her eyes boring into his, "she doesn't."

Their eyes locked and Simon didn't know what to say. Always able to come up with a witty remark, he was momentarily dumbstruck. Was she paying him a compliment? Did she think he was more than what he portrayed? Simon wanted to ask, but before he got a chance, a loud round of applause sounded around them. Isabelle broke away from him and turned back toward the front. Her eyes widened and the color drained from her face.

Simon peered forward and saw Valentine, a large smile on his face and his hand in the air in a not-so-humble gesture of thanks, leave the area and disappear out a side door. Several men followed behind him. "What?" he asked, not understanding Isabelle's reaction.

She reached over and grabbed his hand. Turning back to him, her dark eyes grew huge in her beautiful face. "Where's Clary?"

Simon frowned. "What do you mean? She's—" He looked back to the front to find Clary wasn't there at all. "Well, she was right there."

"Damn it," Isabelle said. She craned her neck as if she were looking for someone.

"Calm down. I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just with Jace making out somewhere."

"Jace—" Isabelle seemed to catch the frantic tone in her voice and cut off abruptly, "went to the bathroom."

Simon raised a brow. It occurred to him that he hadn't seen Jace once during the toast. "That's an awfully long bathroom break. Did he fall in?"

Isabelle didn't respond, her eyes trained on an approaching figure. Jonathan.

He stopped in front of them, his black eyes filled with an emotion Simon had never seen in them before. Frankly, he'd never really seen much emotion at all from Jonathan. "You two need to get out of here. Now."

Isabelle pulled back her shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without Clary. Do you know—"

"Yes," Jonathan interrupted with an impatient wave of his hand. "I sent her to the roof to await transportation. Now, you two should really go join her. It's not safe—"

"Wait," Isabelle said. "You sent her to the roof? Alone? Jonathan, you know what's—"

"I didn't send her alone! She's with Sebastian—not that he'd be much help because he was falling over himself drunk."

"What are you talking about?" Simon interjected. "I just saw Sebastian not five minutes ago talking up some girl. He seemed perfectly sober then."

Isabelle stared at him as if she didn't understand his words.

"What?" Simon asked, not comprehending why she was looking at him that way.

Her brows lifted in realization and she spun toward Jonathan. "Oh, my God. Sebastian!"

Jonathan's face paled further and he looked to Simon like he was about to throw up. Finally, Simon had had enough. He grabbed Isabelle's shoulders and spun her toward him. "What's going on, Izzy?"

"I—I can't—"

A loud pop echoed through the air and Simon ducked instinctively. Screams permeated the space and people started pressing in on them from every direction. A high heel dug into his toes and Simon attempted to jump back, but just crashed into a wall of bodies instead. A few more pops sounded, and Simon finally recognized them as gunshots. Isabelle reached out for him, but the tide of people rushing forward broke them apart and Simon rode helplessly on the wave of moving bodies. He fought against them, shoving aside whoever got in his way. He looked above the swell and saw Isabelle pushing through as well. Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. Simon tried to move forward, to get back to her, but he could not concentrate in the manic energy, the shouts and screams and shots ringing in his ears.

The back of his legs hit something and he nearly toppled over onto it. A table. Simon struggled to stand, but he could barely move. The panicked partygoers never ceased in their retreat. Finally, he managed to get back to his feet when he felt a hand grab his shoulder. He spun and met Isabelle's black eyes. Another shot rang out and she pushed him down. She was surprisingly strong.

"Get under the table!" she ordered, and lifted her skirt, running her hand along her thigh.

Simon wanted to ask her what she was doing and to tell her that as much as he appreciated the gesture, now was not the time to give him a peep show. Then she pulled a big, black gun from a holster strapped to her leg.

"Isabelle! Why do you have that?" His shock was evident in his voice.

She squatted next to him, turned, and grinned a mischievous grin. "If I told you, I might have to kill you."

Several more shots split the air, these sounding closer than before. Isabelle dove under the table, her body landing on top of Simon's and shielding him from any stray bullets. His head smacked the ground from the force of her shove. Isabelle's face hovered just over his, but she did not look at him. Her eyes were trained on the chaos surrounding them. Footsteps pounded the tile floor, but all Simon could hear was his own heart hammering in his chest. He was pretty sure it was a mixture of fear, disbelief, and the fact that a beautiful girl with her boobs nearly in his face was lying flat on top of him. She was warm and soft, but also hard and strong against him. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he left them flat on the floor at his side.

Isabelle drew her legs up and pushed her palms against his chest until she sat straddling his hips with her upper torso bent over his. She brought the gun up to her chest and cradled it against her as her eyes searched the room.

Disorder still ensued around them, people running here and there, but never seeming to get anywhere. The swell pushed up against the door and cries of pain and anger floated back to where Simon and Isabelle lay. Everywhere he looked, bodies lay haphazardly along the floor, some even on top of others. It didn't look as if they were all dead, but some of them must have been. The scent of copper tinged the air.

Simon tried to raise himself up on his elbows to see more of the room, but Isabelle pushed him back. "Stay down," she ordered.

"I have to admit, although I do appreciate the act of you straddling me, I can't help but feel that our roles are somewhat reversed."

Isabelle glared down at him. "Quit being sexist, Simon."

"I'm not . . . well, okay, maybe I am a little, but I am a man."

"And I'm a woman with a gun." She smiled.

"Yeah, about that—"

Another round of shots burst from behind them and Isabelle sank back down on top of Simon, chest to chest, nose to nose. He held his breath in fear that not only would he be shot, but that his breath would contain something nasty.

Isabelle peered over her shoulder, her hair falling in Simon's face. He spit out a few strands that made their way into his mouth.

"Okay, we really need to get out of here," Isabelle said. She glanced down at Simon. "How fast can you run?"

"What?" he balked.

She slid off from him and positioned herself at his side. Pulling back the hammer, a soft click echoed in the small space and Isabelle met his eyes. "When I count to three, I want you to run as fast as you can toward that door behind the main table."

Simon lifted his head and peered in the direction they'd come. "Where? I don't see any door."

Isabelle sighed and pushed herself to her knees. She hiked her dress up and tucked it around her waist, showing off an abundance of creamy skin in the process. "Just behind that swag of fabric." She pointed and Simon finally made out the outline to a door.

"Okay, I see it."

"All right. One—"

"Wait, wait!" Simon pushed himself up on his elbows. "Where are you going to be?"

"Right behind you. Two—"

"Behind me?" He rolled over onto his hands and knees. "But what if someone's shooting from the front?"

Isabelle looked at him as if he had lost his mind. "Duck. Three!" She pushed him out from underneath the table and he nearly hit his nose on the floor.

Shots ricocheted off the tables, walls, and floors around him. He slapped the ground hard and pushed himself to his feet, flinching every time he heard anything remotely similar to a gunshot. When he reached the front table, he spun and watched as Isabelle ran toward him, her arm outstretched, hair flying around her in a trail of black silk. Her face was deadly. A man stood from across to the room and took aim on her, but he needn't have bothered. In less time than it took for him to raise his gun, Isabelle compressed the trigger. The bullet flew through the air and hit the man right in the heart. A red plume spread across his shirt and he fell, face-first, onto the table in front of him.

Isabelle whipped her gaze back to Simon and motioned for him to move when he saw a woman in a deep blue dress rise from behind a group of chairs just to the right of her.

"Isabelle!" was all he got out before the woman fired. Isabelle fell to the ground and for a second, made no motion to move. A sick slither of fear crawled up his spine at the thought that she'd been hit. He made to dive forward, when Isabelle flipped onto her back, gun in hand, and let off two shots. One struck the woman in the arm, and the other, the head. She was dead before she hit the ground.

Simon's breath caught in his chest. Isabelle hopped to her feet in a move Simon would have never thought her able to do and turned in his direction. "Simon! Move your ass!" she yelled.

He spun, knocking his hip on the table edge as he sprinted toward the door. A dull pain radiated through his leg. Just as he reached the door, the lights went out overhead. More screams and shots filled the place, the sounds almost deafening in the pitch black. Simon paused, not knowing which way to turn when someone smashed into his back. He stumbled forward, meaning to catch the edge of the door frame, when his foot struck something solid. He pitched forward, his hands stretched out in front of him, catching him when he hit the ground. His palm slid in a sticky, wet puddle. Just as he pushed back, a flicker of lights came on over head. The back-up generator. A dull, orange glow washed over the corridor.

Simon looked down to see what he'd fallen over, only to be met by the ghostly pale face of Jonathan Morgenstern. He gasped and jumped to his feet, and at the last second realized that the sticky, wet mess he'd landed in was a pool of Jonathan's blood.

.o.O.o.

The hard tip of the revolver pressed into Jace's back.

"Hands where I can see them." Maia pushed him into the hallway. Jace laced his fingers behind his head. "And I swear, Jace, if you move, I will shoot you."

He could still feel the slight tremble in her hands and hear the shaking of her voice. She was definitely not comfortable in this situation. It was obvious that she'd acted as more of the brains behind the stalking operation, and her partner was the muscle. She wasn't cut out for the physical aspects of the job.

Maia led him down the hall to the stairwell. She pressed the gun harder into him and said, "Open the door, then hands back where they were."

Jace unlocked his fingers and reached out to twist the knob. He could easily disarm her, but she was leading him right where he needed to go. He could afford to humor her a little longer. The door opened with a click and Jace found himself in a square space, flight after flight of stairs twisting above him. They seemed to stretch forever.

"You know," he said, replacing his hands at the back of his head, "they have a perfectly good elevator just inside the corridor."

"Oh, thank you for that winning assessment, Captain Obvious," she shoved him forward, "but as much as I'd enjoy not walking all these flights in heels, I'm afraid the elevators won't be much use to us."

"What? Don't know how to work them? It's quite simple. You see, they have these arrows, one points up for 'up' and the other points down for 'down'. Once the doors open—"

Maia sighed. "Are you about finished?"

"Well, no, there are a few more steps that are pretty important if you want to actually get it to work."

"You really think you're cute, don't you?"

"I don't think, I know."

"God, I don't know what Clary ever saw in you." She poked him in the back with the end of the revolver. "Now, shut up and move."

Jace started up the stairs. He had no idea where they were going or who he was about to meet when they got there. But he couldn't help the thrill running through him. As much as the whole situation pained him, it was still somewhat exciting to finally be about to crack the case.

After they'd climbed for what felt like forever, Jace stepped onto the top landing of the stairwell.

"The roof?" he asked.

"Of course," Maia said, and Jace could hear the smile in her voice. "That way when we're done with you, we can just throw you off."

In that moment, the lights went out overhead, plunging the entire stairwell into darkness. Jace heard the hum of a backup generator in the background and knew this was his best shot. Taking only a split second to get his bearings, he twisted slightly and caught Maia's gun-toting arm between his elbow and side. Before she even had a chance to gasp, he jerked back once more and a sickening pop echoed through the stairwell. Her gun clattered to the floor, and she screamed. Jace whipped around, pulled her to him, and clamped his hand over her mouth.

Above them, dim, orange light flickered to life. Tears dripped down Maia's cheeks and her gasping breaths sucked against his palm.

"I'm sorry about that, but it's not broken, only dislocated. Still hurts like hell though. I just can't have you following me. I'm sure you understand." The malice in her eyes astounded him. Even through tears she managed to infuse her stare with enough hate to burn a hole through him. "But, just in case you're tougher than I suspect . . ." He removed his hand from her mouth and quickly brought the edge of it down on the bundle of nerves in her neck with just the right amount of force.

Maia slumped forward into him, her head rolling back on her shoulders. She wouldn't be out long, so he needed to move fast. Carefully, Jace lowered her to the ground, watchful not to jostle her dislocated elbow too much. Part of him felt bad he had to hurt her at all—she was a girl, and he didn't delight in the fact that he'd maybe permanently damaged her arm—but that was part of the game, he supposed. He propped her against the stairway railing and reached up to loosen his tie. The knot slipped easily and he pulled it over his head. Jace grabbed her uninjured arm and methodically wrapped and knotted the slick fabric around her wrist and the metal rails above her head. There was no way she'd be able to get free with one arm tied and the other dislocated at the elbow.

When he'd finished, he gathered her purse from the floor and rooted through for the memory sticks and his communication devices she'd taken from him just before they left the bathroom. His fingers brushed over the flash drives first, then his ear piece and mic. He tucked the drives back in his pocket and replaced his devices. Pressing the mic button, he said, "Okay, back."

"What happened?" Alec's voice came through high and frightened. "I was just about to send the whole Agency after you."

Jace knew he was exaggerating. "Just a little hiccup in the plan, but it's all good now."

"Where are you?"

Jace glanced around. "Just about to go onto the rooftop terrace."

"Maybe you should wa—"

"I'm not waiting, Alec." He stood and made his way to the door, stopping to collect Maia's gun before grasping the knob. "Just have back up on the way."

"Already do."

Jace twisted the knob and pulled open the door. A blast of cold greeted him as he stepped outside. Lightning flashed through the sky and the scent of rain lingered in the air. It would start any minute. He tucked Maia's gun into his belt and reached down to his calf for his own. It was more familiar, and they would expect him to have it. They wouldn't, however, anticipate him having Maia's as well.

He took a moment to study his surroundings. The door opened to a large, red-tiled terrace. Several potted trees and many boxed shrubs and plants lined the outer ring. A large glass enclosure loomed next to him and housed the opening to the elevator. Strings of outdoor lights draped overhead, but none of them were on because of the blackout. Only an emergency light near the glass building and inside a large, wooden gazebo provided any illumination.

Something inside the gazebo caught his attention and he moved forward silently. As Jace grew closer, he realized it was a person. By the size and build, he assumed a man. He continued on until he stood just outside the gazebo, his gun clutched in his hand. There was something very familiar about the person in front of him, but he couldn't figure out what—until the man spoke.

"I wondered how long it would take you." A puff of smoke rose above the man's head.

Jace stopped abruptly, his heart slamming against his ribs when the familiarity of the voice washed over him. He narrowed his eyes and tried to comprehend what his brain told him couldn't be true. "Sebastian?"

A soft chuckle came from across the gazebo. "Surprise," he said, still not turning to face Jace. He flicked something into the air. It glowed orange for a moment, then went out. Jace decided it was a cigarette butt. "I can't believe you didn't figure it out beforehand. Maybe you're not as good as you thought you were, Agent."

Jace stiffened. "Or maybe you're just a better liar than I gave you credit for."

"Ouch. Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black? Isn't that what your whole profession revolves around? Perfecting the lie so completely that you can be anyone you need to be. Even, say, someone's boyfriend?" He turned slowly, his body held in an awkward stance. It took Jace only a moment to realize why. In his arms, Sebastian held a trembling Clary, his hand covering her mouth. Jace's heart dropped into his stomach. Sebastian grinned. "How ironic you call me a liar." He bent and almost touched his lips to Clary's ear. Jace's fist clenched at his side. "Right, Clary? It's really not fair for Agent Herondale to call me a liar, is it?" He let his hand fall from her mouth, his finger tracing the line of her jaw.

Clary let out a shuddering breath, her eyes focused intently on Jace. "Jace . . . what is he talking about? Why is he calling you that?"

Jace felt his stomach squeeze and his mouth dropped open, but no words escaped.

"Yeah, Jace, why _is_ it I keep calling you Agent?"

Jace narrowed his eyes and stepped onto the wooden platform of the gazebo.

"Ah, ah, ah," Sebastian said and drew his arm out from behind Clary's back, a gun held in his hand. He pressed it into her side. Jace halted where he stood. "Don't come any closer, and drop your weapon."

Jace let the firearm fall from his fingers to the ground.

"Now, kick it away."

He kicked the gun behind him. The metal grated along the tiled floor.

"That's much better," Sebastian said. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes. I remember." He turned his face into Clary's. She cringed, and Jace had to hold himself back. "You see, our friend here is not all he seems. Are you, Jace? Or maybe it would be better to say he's . . . more . . . than what he seems?" He met Jace's eyes and grinned before turning back to Clary once more. "I know you were upset with me when you found out I'd been in on this, but you know my dad, and you know what he did to me. He took everything, _everything_, when I wouldn't join the firm. I lived on Ramen Noodles and in a rat-hole of an apartment. I had no choice. But Jace . . . well, Jace had a choice, didn't he? He didn't need to take things as far as he did to make you believe him. He didn't have to pretend to love you."

"That's enough!" Jace said, his blood pounding through his veins. "That's not how it was, and you know it."

"Do I?" Sebastian asked. "Do we?" he said to Clary. "I think the Agent here forgets that I've known him for a while. I've watched him work girls before—maybe not as part of his job—but in general. And he's good, very, very good. If he didn't want you to," Sebastian traced the end of the gun along her jaw, "you'd never know he was lying. He's a master manipulator, Clary. And you've been played."

Clary's eyes met his. "Jace?"

His name on her tongue stabbed him in the heart.

"He's lying, right? Tell me he's lying. Please?" One lone tear streaked down her cheek. "Please," she whispered.

Jace closed his eyes for one brief moment and opened them again. Her stare still cut into him, but he could no longer lie. He no longer had to. As much as it killed him to see her look at him that way, the relief of having it out overwhelmed him. "I can't tell you that."

Clary sucked in a breath. "So it is true. You're . . . what? A secret Agent?" She sounded confused. "And you've just been . . . pretending . . . this whole time?"

"It's not like that . . ."

"Then what is it like, Jace?" She stared at him. "Because I don't understand. I don't—"

"I'll explain it all. I promise. I'll tell you _everything_. Just . . . please believe that I . . ." He took one step forward and reached out to her. Sebastian tightened his hold on the gun. Jace stopped and dropped his hand. "I never pretended about the way I felt. Not once."

"How can I believe you?" she said, her voice clouded with betrayal.

"Because you know me."

"I don't know you!" she cried. "I—I don't know who you are!"

"Yes, you do," he whispered, the words choking him. "You always have."

She sucked in a sharp breath and shook her head again as more tears fell from her eyes.

"This is all very touching," Sebastian said in a bored tone, "but we have some business to attend to." He gestured to Jace with the gun. "Hand it over."

"Not until you let her go."

"No."

"She has nothing to do with this, Seb!"

"Of course she does! You both do!" he returned, his voice echoing off the tiles and planters. "God, don't you understand that? Don't you have any idea what's going on here?" The arm Sebastian held the gun in flailed to his side in a momentary lapse of control.

Jace caught Clary's eye just when the idea sparked in hers. Before Sebastian even realized he'd removed the weapon from her, Clary slammed her heel down onto his foot. His arm came loose from around her and he yelped in pain. She twisted around and elbowed him right in the face. His gun clattered to the ground and blood spurted from his nose. Clary stumbled out of his grasp and dove for the gun. Sebastian reached out and grabbed her around the waist, but she had already managed to kick the weapon out of the way. It landed between a couple of planters on the outskirts of the gazebo.

Jace wrenched Maia's gun out of his belt just as Sebastian lifted Clary, legs kicking, into the air. "Put her down." Jace cocked the hammer, the click loud and menacing in the relative quiet. "Now." Sebastian met his stare, defiance in his eyes. Blood dripped from his nose, over his mouth, and down his chin. Jace shook his head. "Don't try me, Sebastian. I'm an excellent shot. I won't miss."

Sebastian grinned. "You won't shoot me when I have her. I know you won't."

"I told you not to test me! Now let her go!" Jace felt the rage build in his veins, but his hand did not waver.

"I can't!" Sebastian cried. "He'll kill me."

"Who?" Jace demanded.

Sebastian hesitated, and Jace could tell he wanted to spill. "I can't . . . I—"

"We could offer you protection. You know we could. If you just—"

"You don't understand!" Sebastian exploded. "You can't protect me! No matter what you promise. No matter what you do. Because he—"

A loud shot rang out. Clary screamed and Sebastian lurched forward. Jace's body went cold. Sebastian's eyes rolled back into his head and he toppled over onto Clary. Without thinking, Jace hurried across the gazebo and yanked Sebastian's still form off from Clary. She lay in a crumpled ball beneath him, blood splattered across the jacket she wore.

Jace fell to his knees and pulled her up into his arms. She cowered at first, but when she realized it was him, she threw her arms around his neck. He held her to him, his hand at the back of her head.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He pulled her back and looked her over in the dim light. "Are you okay?"

She peered up at him and opened her mouth to answer, when her eyes grew wide and a sharp gasp fell from her lips instead of words. Jace whipped the top half of his body around, his gun steady in his hand. A tall, dark-haired man stood at the edge of gazebo, his eyes intent on them, a gun in his right hand. He recognized the man as one of the Agents from the Agency. Jace lowered his weapon slowly. Alec must have gotten backup to come sooner than Jace thought. He couldn't remember the Agent's name: Marcus or Malachi or something.

Finally, the man looked up. "Everything all right with the girl, Agent Herondale?"

"Yes, sir," Jace said. He felt Clary shiver at "Agent Herondale." He had so much explaining to do.

The man nodded. "I'll just take care of this." He knelt and scooped Sebastian's body in his arms.

Jace furrowed his brows. "Wait. You're not supposed to touch him. Forensics has to come and—"

"That won't be necessary, Agent." Another voice floated out of the dark. This one familiar. Too familiar. A chill ran up Jace's spine. _What is he doing here?_ Jace thought. _He's not supposed to be here._ The man's silhouette graced the edge of the gazebo. A flash of lightning followed by a rumble of thunder blazed overhead, highlighting the recognizable man's face. "You may take him, Malachi. And there's another that needs disposing of in the stairwell." Malachi started toward the stairs. Sebastian hung limp and unresponsive over his shoulder.

"Wait a second." Jace rose to his feet, pulling Clary with him. Her fingers dug into his arm as she stood beside him. "Maia's just knocked out. I made sure I didn't hurt her too badly."

The man stepped out into the orange glow of the backup lights. His kind face now on full display for Jace to see. "Yes, you did a remarkable job, Jace. Just as I knew you would." Hodge smiled. "You played your part very well. Congratulations." His eyes moved to Clary. "So this is her, hmm? Morgenstern's daughter?"

Jace nodded, his throat tightening around his words and blocking his speech. Something was off. He didn't understand why they'd taken Sebastian away before the team got there.

Finally, Hodge's eyes settled back on Jace's. "You have it then?"

For a moment, Jace was confused.

"The thumbdrive?"

Thumbdrive. One. Jace had two nestled in his pocket.

Suddenly, he didn't want to answer. Everything in him told him to back away. He pushed Clary behind him and stepped back.

Hodge's benign face transformed into a fierce expression. "Agent, it is your duty to hand over the evidence."

"I will," Jace said. "To Maryse, as was the plan."

"Plans change," Hodge said as he pulled out an Agency issued handgun. Jace knew Hodge didn't have one, so he wondered when he'd gotten it. Seeing the confusion on Jace's face, Hodge grinned. "You should be careful where you place your weapon, Agent." A gloved finger closed over the trigger.

"So, it was you, then. You're behind this?"

Hodge took another step into the light. "Of course it was."

"But, why? Why would you do this?"

"Because of them, of course." He shrugged as if his reasoning was a well known fact.

Jace had no clue what he was talking about. "Who?

Hodge sighed. "Sometimes I forget how young you are and how much you don't know." He pointed to Clary with the gun. "Her father." Then, he moved to Jace. "And your mother."

Jace could understand a huge dislike for his mother and Clary's father. Both were massive douches. And he knew his mother had always been a thorn in Hodge's side at the Agency—he could sympathize. But what did Valentine Morgenstern have to do with anything? As far as Jace knew, Hodge had been benched before any real case came up against Morgenstern.

"I understand about my mother, but what did Valentine Morgenstern have to do with you failing your field test?"

Hodge threw his head back and laughed before looking back to Jace. "You're so gullible. You honestly believed that bull story? Me? Fail _anything_? Please." The laughter in his eyes died and gave way to anger. "That whole story was fabricated to cover up what _they_ did." He paused and glanced at Clary. "And I'm not talking about Valentine Morgernstern."

Clary stiffened at Jace's side. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Hodge cocked his head to the side. "Didn't you ever wonder why he hated you so much? Why he treated you so differently than he treated Jonathan?" He paused. "Because you're not his blood."

Shocked, Jace glanced at Clary and watched as the color drained from her face. "Luke," she whispered. Realization washed over Jace. Of course, Luke.

Hodge grinned. "I'm glad you've caught up to me now. Yes, Lucian. His situation was much like yours, Jace. He was a new Agent, assigned to Mrs. Morgenstern—only she knew who he was and why he was there. It was her who contacted the Agency in the first place." The smile slipped from his face. "And also like you, he fell for his client. The two of them had a relationship and, well, you see what that produced." He gestured to Clary.

Clary stood staring at Hodge with her mouth open.

"I don't understand what that has to do with you," Jace said.

Hodge narrowed his eyes. "I was Lucian's partner. The one person who knew what was going on. Who knew about the affair. You know it's against Agency policy to become involve with clients, don't you, Jace?" Jace swallowed and Hodge continued. "But as Luke's friend, I kept it quiet. I never said a word. Not even when Jocelyn became pregnant. When she came to me and told me—"

"Wait," Clary said, "she came to you? Why you?"

"Because she wanted to know how all of this would affect Luke's career. I told her the truth." He shrugged. "That he would lose his badge if anyone found out there was a relationship. I'm not sure exactly what went down between the two of them after that. All I knew was that Jocelyn broke it off and raised you as Morgenstern's daughter. Lucian, feeling guilty for his betrayal, went to the board and confessed his affair and resigned from the Agency. He thought he was doing the right thing, but of course, because I was his partner, I was implicated as well." Hodge turned to Jace. "And that's when your mother had me stripped of my field badge. She tried for an all out expulsion from the Agency, but they felt my knowledge was valuable, so they stuck me in this worthless position."

"But," Clary started, "why wouldn't Luke tell me? He knows how my father is. Why keep this secret?"

Hodge stared at her with contempt. "Lucian knows nothing about his parentage of you. Jocelyn did that as much to protect you as him. Of course, Valentine knows you're not his. That would have been physically impossible. But, he had no idea who your father was and made your mother swear never to tell a soul. He told her if she told anyone, if she tarnished his reputation in any way, he would kill you both. He didn't know she'd already told me."

Jace's mind spun from all the half-truths he'd been told all his life. It didn't really surprise him—Agent's were trained to lie, but he still didn't quite understand one thing. "This is all sad and heartbreaking and all, but what does any of this have to do with us directly?"

"Everything! It has everything to do with you." Hodge raised the gun in his hand and flailed it in front of him, his gestures becoming wilder and wilder as he spoke. "You already know what your mother has done. She almost single handedly ruined my career. I believe if she hadn't been so adamant on getting me kicked out, the Agency would have given me leniency. But no, she wouldn't stop. Wouldn't give me the benefit of the doubt, even though I did nothing wrong! So, I figured, what is it she holds most dear?"

Jace laughed humorlessly. "Well, you came to the wrong conclusion. My mother cares nothing about me."

"I wasn't talking about you, Jace." Hodge's eyes almost looked sad about that. "I meant her reputation. There is nothing Celine cares about more, and you were the perfect catalyst to destroy it. Of course, I knew of your own reputation. Everyone knew. When this case fell into my lap, I knew it was perfect. Miss Morgenstern was not the normal sort of girl you went for, but she had all the right sort of qualities that you could really fall for."

Jace swallowed hard. How could Hodge have known when Jace hadn't even known?

"I scored highest in profiling, remember?" Hodge answered Jace's unasked question. "I'm excellent at reading people, and this girl," he swung the gun in Clary's direction, and she flinched, "is everything that would make you fall. And if you fell, so would your mother. The disgrace she'll feel having everyone know that her son committed one of the worst sins an Agent can . . . it'll be spectacular." He turned his eyes to Clary. "And as for you. Regardless of whether or not he knows you are his, who do you think Lucian loves most in this world? Who would it hurt him most to lose?"

Jace reached out and grabbed Clary, pulling her into him. "If you hurt her, I swear I'll—"

"You'll what? Turn me in? No one would believe you."

Jace grinned. "I don't have to try and make anyone believe me." He reached up and turned out his lapel. "They already know."

Hodge's eyes went wide. "But—but she was supposed to take that!"

"What? You didn't think I could best a girl, Hodge? You underestimate me."

His eyes narrowed. "Never again." Hodge raised his hand, the black gun large and ominous in the pale orange light.

Jace didn't think, he just lifted his own weapon. Time froze in that split second. All he was aware of was himself and Hodge—a man who had been like a father to him for so many years. A man who had lied and used him for his own gain. Jace was tired of being used, of being mistreated. He was done with it all. His eyes met Hodge's and in them he saw determination. A loud peel of thunder cracked over head and Jace saw Hodge's finger twitch on the trigger. Jace pushed Clary away and fired in return.

He expected to feel the impact. To feel the burn as the bullet ripped through skin and muscle and sinew, the heat and wet as his blood spilled over his flesh. But, he felt none of that and wondered if maybe it was true that you really didn't feel the shot at first. Hodge crumpled to the ground before him, the gun he'd held skittered across the ground just as the first drops of rain fell. A small hole graced the center of his forehead, clean and round. Blood collected behind his head, mixing with the water falling from the sky.

Jace sucked in a breath, still no pain. He glanced down and saw he was completely unharmed. Clary made a sound off to his left and he turned in her direction. She stood facing away from him, her body curled inward and her hands on her stomach like she was going to be sick. Jace dropped his weapon and moved toward her.

"Clary," he said, wanting to reach out and pull her to him, but suddenly unsure if he should.

"Jace," she said, her voice a strained whisper, and she pitched forward. Jace caught her around the waist, his hand coming away warm and wet.

Panic seized his body and he spun her toward him. She held her palms to her abdomen and her face was the color of snow. Jace ripped her hands away, revealing a gushing wound to her side.

"Oh, Jesus!" he cried and pressed his own hand to the wound. Dark, warm fluid flowed between his fingers.

Clary stumbled into him, and his arm went around her back, holding her against him. His knees trembled and he fell, hitting the ground hard. He laid her gently on the wooden floor of the gazebo. Clary's body started to convulse and her eyes rolled back into her head. Blood poured from her side and pooled on the ground below. Needing something besides his hand to block the flow, Jace wrenched off his suit coat and tore through the buttons on his shirt. His fingers fumbled against the ones on his wrists. Cold air bit against his bare shoulders and through the tight tank top covering his torso.

"Hold on, baby. Please. Just hold on." Jace wadded up the shirt and pressed it firmly to her side. She cried out in pain, and Jace felt the fabric begin to soak through almost immediately. Her blood was so hot against his skin. A couple of tears trailed from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks.

"Jace," she said through gritted teeth, her voice barely audible. "I'm so pissed at you."

He lowered his forehead to hers. "I know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I wish I could slap you right now."

He nodded. "I wish you could too."

Clary's hand came up, and he thought maybe she was going to try, but it brushed over his cheek instead. Her fingers were weak, but she still managed to run them around to the back of his neck and pull him forward. Their lips touched but it wasn't a kiss. She didn't have enough strength left to kiss. But just the action, the implication that she wanted to kiss him, was enough. Her shallow, ragged breaths were still warm against his mouth, but her skin was cold. So cold. She smiled just slightly and then grimaced. Her body shook a few more times, then went limp.

"Clary!" Jace gathered her close, still keeping his hand pressed against the wound. The fabric grew wetter and wetter by the moment, and drops of cooling blood trailed down his arm. "Open your eyes, baby. Open your eyes!" He wanted to shake her, to make her listen. "Alec! Where are you, Alec?" he called into the air, hoping Alec could still hear, the desperation in his voice making it rise in pitch.

Alec's voice crackled to life. "We're coming! We're coming!" He sounded winded. "We're almost there."

"She's—she's been shot. Oh, God. Clary. Please open your eyes." But she didn't. Rain fell steadily around them as Jace held her body against his. He buried his face in her neck, feeling the slightest beat of a pulse against his cheek.

"Is she alive?" Alec's voice sounded again. "Jace, is she alive?"

"Yes," he managed to squeak out. "Barely." Jace's breath came out in a pained gasp and his eyes stung. His body shook with uncontrolled grief as warm tears fell over his cheeks. "Please. Please stay. I—I need you to stay." He pressed his warm lips to her cold ones, kissing her even though she couldn't kiss him, holding her even though she didn't hold back. "I need you," he said against her mouth. "I need you."

Footsteps and voices exploded onto the roof. Shocked gasps and shouts echoed through the night. A hand grasped at his shoulder and tried to pry him away. But he wouldn't let go. Couldn't let go. Not of her. Not ever. Voices called his name, and Jace should have answered, explained, made them help. But the only thing he could concentrate on was the flaccid body of the girl he loved wrapped tightly in his arms, the almost non-existent thrum of hope against his cheek, and the warmth of her life spilling quickly from between his fingers.


	29. Tribulation

**28. Tribulation**

Sometimes as writers our story surprises even us. The characters shift and change, morphing the storyline and the outcome in ways even we never saw coming. Covert Casanova is one of those stories. I envisioned things going a different way-as did many of you, I'm sure. But as I wrote, this is what the characters led me to. This is how their story went. These characters, Cass and Spitfire, are present as I write, talking to me, leading me in the direction they need to go. I just follow. I hope you all will understand that and be satisfied with the outcome as you read. This is the final chapter with only an epilogue-esque update remaining. So please, read, enjoy. :)

As always, thank you to my lovely beta, Lightlacedwithbeauty. She has been amazing throughout this entire story. I love you girl! (and she said she cried A LOT while editing this chapter. Forewarning? ;))

And thank you to niniadepapa for your guidance on the Spanish. I love you too!

Two week to the epilogue, my lovelies. xoxo ~ddpjclaf

_Chapter Songs:**  
**_

_**9 Crimes - Damien Rice_

_**Everybody Hurts – R.E.M_

_**The Reason – Hoobastank (they do not have this song on Mixpod for some reason...)_

* * *

The staircases stretched for what seemed like miles and miles. Alec climbed as fast as his legs would let him, his breath ragged in his aching chest. Through the earpiece, he heard Jace calling for him, his voice choked with panic and fear as he begged for Clary to stay. Alec had never heard Jace sound like that before. He was always so controlled, so cocky. Not tonight. Tonight, none of that man remained.

Several Agents crowded the stairwell with him, including Alec's mother, Agency Director Maryse Lightwood. Worry lines creased her forehead as she and Alec led the team to the roof. Normally, since Alec was a new Agent, he'd be in the back. But Jace was his partner, and Jace was in trouble. This prompted Maryse to allow Alec on the scene first.

When Alec rounded the last curve of stairs, his hand gripped the railing hard and he pulled himself onto the top landing. Evidence of a struggle littered the space. A purse and its contents—a tube of lipstick, breath mints, and loose change—spilled over the tile. The broken heel of a shoe was wedged between the wall and doorjamb. Wrapped around the rungs of the railing hung a black silk tie—Alec recognized it as Jace's. A pang of unease tightened Alec's chest.

Maryse reached out to grab the knob when Alec closed his hand over hers. She met his gaze with confusion.

"Keep the others away from him," he said.

Maryse furrowed her brows.

"He's—" Alec tried to think of the most delicate way to put what Jace was. "He's in no condition to be bombarded with questions. Let me deal with him for now."

Maryse studied Alec for a few seconds before giving a curt nod. Alec wanted to sigh in relief, but didn't want to look as inexperienced and frightened as he felt, so he kept his respite to himself. His mother turned to the swell of Agents behind her. "Give Agents Lightwood and Herondale room for the time being. We'll deal with Starkweather. Everyone clear?"

Murmured "Yes, Ma'am's" trickled through the crowd. Alec was sure some of them sounded resentful. Being a new Agent, he knew the Director letting him do anything out of the ordinary was going to cause issues. But he couldn't let that bother him just then.

"All right, let's go." She pushed open the door and they filed onto the roof.

Rain fell in torrents, almost instantly soaking Alec. He ran a hand over his face—which did absolutely nothing to help—and squinted through the water flowing over his eyes. His vision landed on the gazebo near the center of the rooftop. Just looking at the large, wooden structure gave Alec a twinge of foreboding in his gut. He knew what he was about to see, he just didn't know if he could handle seeing it.

The group moved forward slowly, weapons drawn and surveying the entire area. There seemed to be no one moving in the vicinity. Alec immediately spied Hodge's body just outside of the gazebo lying in a dark-tinged puddle of water.

In the distance, the sound of a helicopter cut through the pounding rain. Maryse and a couple of Agents headed over to where Hodge rested. Another few went in the opposite direction toward the elevator doors. Alec continued to move forward, his eyes on the dark, slumped over shape in the gazebo. His heart pounded in his chest as he drew closer.

Just before he reached the edge of the wooden structure, the strands of light overhead flickered to life, illuminating the entire rooftop in a soft, white glow. And there, toward the back edge of the gazebo, was Jace. He knelt on the hard ground in nothing but a pair of slacks and a tank top. His coat was thrown behind him and his body was curled protectively over another form.

Alec moved onto the gazebo floor and slowly walked across. His footsteps tramped along the wooden floor. He stopped a few feet before he reached Jace, unable to make himself come any closer. From where he stood, he could not only see Jace—see the trembling of his shoulders and the jerking of his back as he drew in breath after tortured breath—but he could hear him, both through the earpiece and in person. Weeping and begging. Pleading with this lifeless girl to stay. That he needed her. That he loved her. Jace had never needed or loved anyone. Over and over and over the desperate words fell from his lips, some of them whispers and some of them moans.

Alec took a few more steps toward them, and finally he could see Clary. Her eyes were closed, head tipped back and hanging. Her face was a sick shade of gray. A hand lay limp on the ground just outside the edge of the gazebo, and loose, red tendrils of hair trailed around it in a river of rainwater and blood.

Alec swallowed hard and knelt beside his friend. Blood soaked into the knee of his pants. He lifted a hand and placed it on Jace's shoulder. Jace jerked as if he hadn't been aware anyone was there, but didn't look up. He just clutched Clary tighter, his hand shaking as it held a bunched up shirt against her side. The wind blew gusts of rain-soaked air under the protective covering, and water dripped from Jace's hair down over his gooseflesh covered arms. The sound of beating blades pounded the sky above, and a white helicopter hovered over the helipad on the opposite side of the rooftop. It wasn't a medical chopper, but Alec knew his mother could just make a call and they'd be allowed to land it at the hospital.

"Jace." Alec finally found his voice. "We need to move her. We need to get her to the hospital."

Jace didn't answer. Alec didn't know what to say or do. He'd never witnessed Jace like this before. Never weak. Never vulnerable. He'd never seen him cry.

"Jace." Alec tugged on his friend's shoulder. When Jace didn't respond, Alec reached for Clary, seeing if he could feel a pulse. "Ja—"

"Don't touch her!" Jace jerked away, and finally met Alec's gaze. An anguish Alec had never imagined filled Jace's face as he looked back down at Clary. His fingers ran over her cheeks and pushed back the wet strands of hair plastered to her skin. "Nobody touches her."

"But we need to get her to the hospital. Jace, we need—"

"When the paramedics get here they can touch her." He glared at Alec once more. "But none of _you_," he spat the word 'you'. "None of you can touch her."

Alec rocked back, shocked by his partner's words. "We didn't know, Jace. We had no idea it was Hodge."

Jace shook his head and lowered his forehead to Clary's chest, hugging her tighter to his body. "It should have been me. I had the gun. I was the threat. He should have shot me. Not her." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Not her."

"Jace, you can't—"

"Just leave me alone, Alec," Jace said. "Please. Just leave me alone."

Alec swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Rain poured all around them and drummed on the roof overhead. Far in the distance, Alec heard the blaring sound of sirens coming in their direction. He opened his eyes. Jace still sat huddled before him, his body trembling. Alec always wondered what it would take for Jace to break. Now he knew.

Slowly, he stood and walked backwards toward where his mother stood. She moved up next to him and peered over in Jace's direction. "How is the girl?"

"Well, he wouldn't let me touch her, but I think she's still alive at this point."

"And . . . how is he?"

Alec paused and thought how best to answer the question. Thunder rumbled and drowned out the sound of the sirens for just a moment. He closed his eyes and shook his head. There was only one word to describe how Jace was. Alec just didn't want to be the one to say it. He glanced over at his mother and met her concerned eyes. Her brows furrowed. Alec turned his gaze back to Jace just as a flash of lightning ripped through the sky and illuminated the lines of his hunched form. Alec sighed. "Broken, Mom." He ignored all Agency protocol and called her Mom. "He's completely broken."

Maryse sighed. "I know."

Rain pelted Alec's back as he kept his eyes on Jace. He felt like he should turn away, to give his friend some privacy, but something about the scene made it almost impossible to look anywhere else. The way Jace arched around the unconscious form of the girl beneath him. The way his body shook, not only from cold, but also grief, held Alec there, watching something he never thought he'd see. Slowly, he reached up and withdrew the earpiece from his ear, unable to listen to the quiet pleas any longer. A hand cupped his shoulder and just before he turned toward his mother, he saw Jace shift, his lips brushing Clary's so softly and whispering something into her mouth. Alec couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to hear to know what was said. Even from this distance, he knew. The way Jace's mouth moved and his lips curled around the words made his sentiment obvious.

_I love you._

.o.O.o.

Darkness wrapped around Clary like a worn, comforting blanket. Like a pair of arms it hugged her, caressed her, took her hurt and leeched it from her body, leaving only cold numbness in its place. Somehow she knew she should be scared, should be fighting against the nothingness, but it felt so good to just let go. To let unconsciousness take over. There was no pain there, and no need for fear. She didn't want to hurt, didn't want to think about what was happening around her. Of the things she'd learned. Of the way everything and everyone she thought she'd known was a lie. Her mother. Her father. Luke. Jace.

Somewhere in the muddled state of her mind, she heard someone calling for her. She struggled to listen, but it was so far away. As if she were swimming below the surface of the ocean and someone was speaking to her, their voice only a murmur of sound. But she was so comfortable where she was. So at ease. So at peace. Part of her wanted to stay there. To stay where she was safe. But there was something about that voice. She knew it and wanted it. Needed it. Even though it had hurt her. Lied to her.

Clary fought against the heaviness pressing in on her from every direction. And finally, she heard it clearly.

_Please stay. I—I need you to stay._

The sluggish beat of her heart sped for a moment and warmth burst at her mouth. A kiss? Breath fanned over her face. Water fell in cool, stinging drops against her skin. She was so cold. _Kiss me again. _

_I need you._

She wanted to reach out, to touch, to hold, to tell him she needed him, too, but her arms and mouth wouldn't move. Nothing worked anymore and she wanted to scream. Her limbs were as heavy as cinderblocks and her heart beat shallow in her hollow chest. She was so tired. Ice trailed over her, wrapping her up and trying to steal every bit of warmth in her body. But the cold could not claim her completely. At various points, heat covered and soaked into her skin. She knew where it came from.

His face materialized in her memory. He was warmth and light, laughter and love. He was quiet smiles, and soft fingers trailing over skin. Kisses, both oozing passion and delivering sweet, tender kindness. _Please kiss me again._ He was hands on her face and eyes bleeding innocent vulnerability. In her mind's eye, she saw his smile—the sly lift of his mouth as he gazed up at her from under thick lashes and rogue golden locks. She heard his voice whisper "I love you," and felt his breath flow over her flesh. Felt the electricity of his hands moving over her, the safety of his arms as they wrapped around her. She heard the strong, steady beat of his heart. Everything about him was so vibrant, so beautiful, so . . . alive.

But she wasn't.

She wasn't alive—not really. She was fading, slipping into the dark with the knowledge that if she didn't stop it, she may never return. Clary felt the world around her evaporating. Jace's voice grew further and further away, and she couldn't find the way back. All she saw was black. _Kiss me again._ She fought against the insane pull grasping at her, but its claws dug into her flesh, ripping her skin as it tugged. She couldn't leave. There was so much out there for her. She wasn't finished yet.

Images of Simon, Luke, and Jonathan flashed through her mind. None of them would forgive her if she gave up. And she'd never have the chance to forgive Jace. She had to fight against it, to get back to them. But the harder she fought, the more she sank. _Kiss me again!_ Her thoughts were frantic. Breathing grew difficult and cold seeped further into her bones. She wanted to scream, beg, cry, anything to stop what was happening, but it was no use. Her fingers slipped from the edge of consciousness and she fell, her body whipping and flailing into the deep, dark abyss.

But, just before she hit bottom, before it had overtaken her completely, she felt the burst of heat again. Light. Soft. Barely there, but there nonetheless.

_I love you._

In the center of the pitch black, a tiny pinprick of light shone through. Clary knew what the light was and she wanted to go there. She pulled against her heavy, lifeless soul, trying to make it go toward the light. Toward the pain and heartache awaiting her on the other side. But also toward hope, life, love. Toward family and friends. Toward him.

.o.O.o.

Everything that happened after the Agents swarmed the rooftop seemed a blur to Jace. A dream. He heard, saw, and felt it all, but it was as if he were floating above, witnessing it instead of going through it.

People shouted, ran, and nudged, but he didn't respond. He just kept himself coiled around Clary, hoping maybe if he squeezed her hard enough she'd take a bit of his life into herself.

When Maryse received word that the ambulance was more than fifteen minutes away, he scooped Clary up into his arms and moved toward the helicopter standing idly on the helipad. Fifteen minutes to arrival was too long. Clary didn't have that long. Her head hung back and her hand flapped lazily, lifelessly, at her side. Jace didn't care if the vehicle wasn't hospital issued, it was there and they were going to use it. He shouted to Maryse to make the call, and she did with only a slight hesitation to stop and gawk at him. Alec, Maryse, and a couple of other Agents climbed in the chopper after him and it lifted into the air.

Jace continued to hold Clary hard against him, her breathing now ragged and shallow. Her face was even paler, and her makeup ran in black lines over her cheeks. He wanted to wipe them away, to make her blush and bring the color back to her skin. It was irrational and impossible, but he wanted it all the same.

They landed at the hospital several minutes later. A stretcher and two doctors stood ready to receive Clary. Jace climbed out with her in his arms. He still hadn't let anyone touch her, not even when they offered to help him carry her. He didn't need or want any of them to help. Jace laid her on the tiny bed and backed away as medical personnel swarmed around her. An oxygen mask went over her face, and one of the doctors climbed onto the stretcher with her, straddling her hips and holding pressure on the wound. The other grabbed the end of the cart and pushed the whole thing into the elevator nearby.

The doors closed and silence engulfed Jace. The blades of the chopper still beat behind him, rain still pounded against the pavement, and hands grasped at his arms, pulling him forward, but he saw, heard, and felt nothing. He was no longer there. No longer living, breathing, and surviving in his body. He was with her.

He didn't protest when they dragged him into the next elevator, or when they shoved him into an exam room to be seen himself. A young, female doctor checked him, her eyes flicking over his form in a way that seemed very unprofessional considering the circumstances. But Jace barely noticed. There was only one thing on his mind, and he was going crazy thinking about what could be happening outside the four walls he found himself trapped within.

After he was checked out medically, interrogators from the local police and the Agency streamed into his room, one after another, asking him question after monotonous question. He could hardly comprehend what they were saying, let alone answer anything coherently. Finally, they gave up, promising to return once he'd had a moment to "collect himself." Just as the last officer left, the door to his room slammed open. Simon stood in the entrance, his suit dirtied and hair standing on end. He'd lost his glasses somewhere. He yelled at Jace, but Jace couldn't comprehend what he was saying. All he wanted was to close his eyes, just for a minute or two. Just close them and steady his mind. So he did. They'd only been shut for a few seconds when he felt a hard punch to the right side of his jaw. It didn't hurt so much as stun him. His eyes flew open just in time to see two Agents grab Simon by the arms and drag him from the room, kicking his legs and screaming something about promising Clary. Then he was gone.

Finally, the silence he craved fell back over him. Jace glanced down. The fluorescent lights overhead made the red stains on his hands appear more gruesome than they really were. He moved to the tiny sink. A plain mirror hung over it. The reflection staring back at him was pathetic and wrong. Dark circles stood out under flat, lifeless eyes. His skin was pale and his hair hung in clumps over his head. A dark red smear stretched across his collar bone, while drips of blood lined his forearms. He bent and washed as best he could in the small sink, but dried blood still clung to the skin and hair on his arms. It didn't help that his shirt had been soaked through and stuck to his ribs. He discarded it, but the smell of copper still hung heavy in the exam room. He really needed a shower and a change of clothes.

The door behind him creaked open. He turned toward the sound, and a short, red-headed nurse stepped into the room. The color of her hair made his stomach clench. She kept her eyes on the floor as if she were avoiding looking at him, as if she were embarrassed. Jace figured she'd be used to seeing shirtless men in her profession, but what did he know? She held out her hand, a pile of folded blue fabric lay on top.

"I brought you some scrubs to change into." She finally met his gaze and her cheeks colored a vivid pink. "They're not much, but it'd be better than those blood-soaked clothes." She gestured to his attire.

Jace moved toward her and took the offering. "Thanks." His voice came out rough, almost hoarse. He didn't have it in him to be charming at the moment, so "thanks" was all she'd get.

She nodded and backed out of the room.

Quickly, Jace changed out of his soaked clothing, discarding them in the trash, and slipped into the soft cotton scrubs. He was just tying the drawstring on the pants when a quiet knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," he said.

The door opened and Isabelle stood framed in the doorway. Her hair was a tangled mess and her red dress was torn up the side. More creamy skin than Jace needed to see peeked through the slit. Two armed guards stepped up behind her—the same two that had hauled Simon out. For a moment, Jace almost forgot he was sequestered in the tiny, sterile room.

Isabelle thrust her hands on her hips and turned partially toward the men. "Is this honestly necessary? He's not going anywhere."

"Izzy." Jace rubbed his hands over his face and sat on the small exam table behind him. Paper crinkled under his weight. He was suddenly very, very tired. "It's fine. They're just doing their job." The sound of his voice was loud to his ears.

She narrowed her eyes at them and reached out to grab the doorknob, shutting it tightly in their faces. "They're treating you like a criminal."

"Maybe I am one."

"Stop it," she said as she sauntered into the room and sat on the nearest chair. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Didn't I?" Jace met her gaze. "I killed a man, injured someone else, and got my gir—client shot. I'd say I did plenty wrong."

Isabelle huffed. Jace knew she wanted to protest, to convince him he was wrong, but she knew nothing she'd say would convince him—not in the mood he was in. "Why are they holding you here?"

Jace clasped his hands in his lap and looked down at them. Blood still lingered under his nails and in the cracks in his skin. He wanted to scrub them again. "Well, I broke Agency protocol for one. I had a relationship outside of what was required with a client." He swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "And until they can prove I wasn't the one who shot Clary—"

"What?" Isabelle bolted up. "They can't honestly think you would . . . ."

Jace felt the fury radiate off from her. "No one was there but her, me, and Hodge. Hodge is dead. Clary is . . ." he couldn't bring himself to say the words, "and I'm here." He lifted his hands and let them fall into his lap. "I'm here and I'm fine. And she was shot with my gun."

"But they were listening . . . they heard everything."

Jace nodded slowly. "They did." He met her gaze. "Everything."

Isabelle's eyes softened and Jace could tell she wanted to reassure him. But he didn't want reassurance. He didn't want anything, except the one thing he may never be able to have again.

He didn't give her a chance to speak. "But they didn't see it. The only person who knows, the only one who can corroborate my story is somewhere in this hospital fighting to live."

"She'll make it, Jace." Isabelle moved across the room and stood in front of him. She placed one of her hands over his. Jace closed his eyes. "You know she will."

"I don't know that." He shook his head and looked up. "I don't know that at all."

Isabelle didn't say another word. Instead, she reached out and hugged him. The gesture shocked Jace. Affection wasn't something Isabelle displayed often. "Yes, you do," she whispered. "You know because you know it's not over. This isn't the end to your story."

Jace lowered his forehead to her shoulder. "I hope not."

Another knock sounded at the door and Jace and Isabelle broke apart. It cracked open and a black-haired head peeked in. Alec stepped inside and lingered at the door. He held his hands clasped in front of him and twisted them together nervously. Jace realized he'd been pretty harsh with Alec up on the roof. He hadn't meant it; he was just out of his mind with anger, at Hodge, at everyone connected with the Agency.

"So, you checked out okay," Alec said like he was there to give Jace a piece of news.

"I told them I was fine." Jace hopped down from the exam table.

"Well, there was so much blood . . ." Alec still didn't look up.

"None of it was mine." Jace ran a hand through his hair. It felt course and gritty from the combination of hair products and rain. "Listen, Alec—"

"It's fine." Alec looked up. "You don't have to apologize to me. I get it."

"I know you do, but you didn't deserve that."

Alec swallowed, glanced back to the floor, and shrugged. Isabelle said nothing.

"I'm sorry," Jace continued. "I shouldn't have lashed out at you. None of it was your fault. None of it was anyone's fault but my own."

Alec's head shot up. "Why would you say that? Of course it's not your fault."

"If I hadn't taken it that far, if I hadn't gotten so mixed up and distracted I could have done my job better. I could have protected her better. Instead, I let my feelings get in the way—hell, I let myself _feel_ in the first place. If I hadn't—"

"What is all this about 'let'?" Alec said, his voice loud and angry. "You act like this was a choice, like you chose to fall in love. You didn't decide to love Clary anymore than I decided to be gay. It is what it is." He ran a hand through his hair in irritation. "You don't choose love, it chooses you."

"Hodge chose to put me here, Alec. If he hadn't, we may not have even met. I don't think this situation is the same."

"Clary works at the club you frequent. You were bound to meet sooner or later."

Jace shook his head. "I probably wouldn't have even noticed her there."

"You would have noticed her," Izzy said. "How could you not? You were destined for each other."

Jace looked at her, one brow raised in disbelief. "Since when did you start believing in destiny? You've always claimed it was a bunch of bull."

Her eyes met Jace's. Deep, dark, truthful. "I still think it's bull—for most people. But . . . what you two have . . . the intensity . . ." She paused, searching, "well, there's no way something like that happens by chance. Regardless of what Hodge orchestrated, you would have found each other eventually."

Jace opened his mouth to answer when a chorus of raised voices came from outside the door. All three of them turned toward it when it banged open.

"You can't do this Celine," said Director Lightwood.

Ambassador Herondale stood in the doorway, her hair pulled back as per usual, and her face pinched in a determined scowl. Her eyes locked on Jace and narrowed. "I shouldn't be surprised to see you in this position, should I? I knew something like this would happen. That you'd figure out a way to embarrass yourself—and worse, the Agency."

Maryse stepped around Jace's mother and stood between them. "Celine, that's enough."

The Ambassador's eyes moved from Jace to Maryse. "If I were you, I'd move out of the way."

"I will not allow you to bully one of my Agents, Ambassador. This isn't your jurisdiction."

Celine stared in disbelief. "Not my jurisdiction? I outrank all of you. You're _all_ my jurisdiction."

"No Ambassador would put him or herself in a position to reprimand an Agent. That's why we have Directors. It's unprofessional and beneath your rank. You're here as a mother and using your title as a cover. He is my Agent and I will not allow you access to him at this time." Maryse ran her hands over the sides of her suit in what looked like an effort to calm herself. "I will also not allow you to keep him prisoner here."

"He is under investigation, Director! He broke Agency protocol, killed a man, and quite possibly a girl. These are not offenses we take lightly. Surely you don't expect me to allow him to go free?"

"I expect you to let me deal with my Agents as I see fit." Her voice sounded as if she spoke through gritted teeth.

"Perhaps if you'd been 'dealing' with your Agents, this would not have happened in the first place."

"I'm not interested in having this conversation with you, Celine. Not only are you overstepping your bounds as an Agency Ambassador, you are also wrong. You know as well as I do that relatives are not allowed on cases against Agents. Now, get out of here and take your guards with you."

The Ambassador's eyes flashed. "How dare you speak to me like that? I will have your badge."

"Once the board hears how you have acted here today, it's very possible they'll have yours." The Director lifted her hand and pointed to the door. "I won't tell you again, Celine. Get out."

Jace's mother narrowed her eyes. "This isn't over, Maryse. I'm sure the board will be very interested to hear how you speak to a superior."

"I'm sure they will," Maryse said, dryly.

Ambassador Herondale looked up and met Jace's gaze. "I'm highly disappointed in you."

Jace lifted his hands at his sides. "What else is new, Mother? At least I'm consistent. An admirable quality, don't you think?"

After one last glare, Jace's mother spun and flew out the door, gesturing to her guards with a wave of her hand to follow. Maryse sighed and slowly turned to face him.

"I apologize for that. I tried to keep her away," she said.

Jace shrugged. "I'm used to it."

"Yes, well, there are times to be a hard-ass and times to not. Now is a time to not. What you need now is not a lecture, but some support. Things are going to be hard enough in the weeks to come without added pressure from Celine."

"Are they going to detain me?" Jace asked.

Maryse nodded slowly. "For more questioning, most definitely. And it's very possible you will be held throughout the board's deliberation on your conduct, maybe even the rest of the case. We heard enough through the earpieces to know you didn't shoot the girl, but there are those that will want to wait for her testimony to be sure. I'm trying to get that overruled—I see no reason to hold you, but I'm not sure how successful I'll be, especially considering Celine's stance on all this."

"But she's his mother," Isabelle said. "And you just said relatives aren't allowed to be involved."

"That's generally true. However, being as she's the Ambassador . . . she may find a way."

"Great," Jace said and sat back on the edge of the table. He glanced down at his hands and drew in a breath. The leftover blood glared out at him like a neon, flashing sign.

"Listen," Maryse stepped forward and tucked two fingers under his chin, drawing his face up, "I will do everything in my power to get you out of this. I can't promise no retribution for the conduct issue, but I can promise the attempted murder charges will go away. I know you didn't hurt Miss Morgenstern. I heard everything that was said on that roof, and I have seen what's on those thumb drives you retrieved."

Jace's brows rose. "You've looked at them already?"

She nodded. "I have. And let's just say that once the board sees them and realizes just how deep Starkweather was involved with Mr. Morgenstern, they will come around to the fact that Hodge would have done anything to exact his revenge. Including killing the girl."

"So, this whole thing really did revolve around what happened way back when Hodge had just gotten out of the Academy?" Alec asked, his face fixed into an expression of disbelief.

"Apparently," Maryse said. "Jocelyn Morgenstern had been compiling information on her husband's indiscretions for quite some time—dating back to when they were first married. Most were petty things like burying or fabricating evidence in order to get a client cleared. All things that would have gotten him disbarred and had him serving jail time, but nothing really major. Until, of course, Jocelyn threatened to leave him and go public with his crimes. In response, he froze all her assets—and Clary's—and promised to kill her and her bastard child if she tried to leave." Maryse shrugged. "There wasn't much else Jocelyn could do but stay. Stay and endure. But when Clary was sixteen, something happened between Morgenstern and his wife that made her serve him divorce papers. We don't know what it was exactly because the reason wasn't detailed in her letter to Luke or on any of the flash drives. But, we do know what happened afterward." She paused. "He contacted someone and arranged a hit."

"He contracted his wife's murder?" Isabelle asked, disgusted.

"Indeed."

"But," Alec said, his brows furrowed, "I don't understand what this had to do with Hodge."

"I do," Jace said, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. "It was Hodge. Valentine called Hodge."

Maryse nodded.

"What?" Isabelle said. "I don't . . ."

"When Hodge was 'demoted' from the Agency," Maryse continued, "he offered his services to Morgenstern as an informant. He would watch the Agency's progress on his case and tamper with evidence to keep us just far enough away from having enough to go after him. So, naturally, when Morgenstern wanted a clean, professional hit on his wife, he called the one person he knew who could do it, clean it up, and make the evidence of it go away. It was the perfect plan. Except . . ."

"Except what?" Alec asked.

Maryse's gaze met Jace's.

"Except Jocelyn figured it out," he answered for her.

She nodded again. "Mrs. Morgenstern had installed a separate surveillance system around their residence for added protection for her and the kids. It caught the exchange between Hodge and Valentine."

"Wait a second," Isabelle said. "I don't understand how Hodge knew she'd captured this exchange. I mean, he wanted the drives, right?"

The Director shook her head. "I don't believe he knew Mrs. Morgenstern knew of the hit. There was enough incriminating evidence of the things he'd done on the drive with all Morgenstern's crimes. I'm pretty sure that's what he was aiming to get from this whole operation."

Isabelle slumped back into the chair. "I can't believe Hodge did this. All of this."

"People are not always what they seem," Maryse said. "Which reminds me, Alec, how is your guy?"

Jace glanced up. Alec had been very tight-lipped about his informant in Morgenstern's firm. He wouldn't even tell Jace—his partner—who it was.

Alec rubbed the back of his neck. "Last I heard he was in surgery. He'd lost a lot of blood by the time the paramedics got to him. It's a good thing Simon and Isabelle found him when they did or Jonathan would be dead right now."

"Wait," Jace stood. "Jonathan? As in Jonathan Morgenstern?"

Alec nodded. "He came forward after we'd been on the case for awhile."

A dry laugh escaped Jace's throat. It figured. After they'd already situated themselves in Clary's life, had already increased the danger surrounding her, her brother would show up with the information they needed. He moved across the room and peered out the small, square window. The lights of the city and the rush of traffic sprawled out beneath him. Everything kept moving, living, breathing as his entire world crumbled around him.

"God," Isabelle's voice sounded behind him, "not a single person told the truth, did they?"

"Clary did," Jace said, his eyes still on the scenery outside. "She never lied. To any of us. Look at what she got in return." He hung his head and closed his eyes. "Is there any news?" His voice cracked.

"What?" Maryse asked.

"Is there any news?" he repeated. "On Clary."

Maryse hesitated. Jace turned just in time to catch her eyes flicker to Isabelle. Isabelle averted her gaze.

"What?" Jace asked, his heart skipping a few beats.

"Jace . . ."

"Tell me," he demanded. His chest felt like it was being squeezed from every angle at once. He couldn't breathe.

"The last I heard, she was in surgery. And . . ." Maryse said.

"And what?"

"And, it wasn't going well."

Jace's stomach bottomed out and his knees went weak. He slumped back against the window, the cold from the glass seeping through his shirt and into his skin. His fingers latched onto the tiny sill. No. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. Jace pushed away from the wall and started toward the door.

Maryse grabbed his arm as he passed. "Where are you going?"

He glanced down at her hand, then slowly let his gaze travel up to meet hers. "I'm going out there."

She shook her head. "This place is crawling with cops and Agents and reporters just waiting to get a shot at you. We can't risk your face getting out there. It could ruin any chance of you staying with the Agency. Anonymity is crucial in this field. You know that."

Jace tore his arm away. "Do you think I care about that? About myself? Now? After all of this?" He shook his head. "Take my badge. Fire me if you have to. But short of you wrestling me to the ground and cuffing me, there's no way you're keeping me here. I can't just sit here any longer. I've put up with the interrogations and the guards and the explanations. And now I have to go. Please. Just let me go."

Maryse studied him for a moment. A flash of something—and Jace thought it looked like pride—sparked in her eyes. "You have fifteen minutes. That's it. And then I have to take you in."

Jace refrained from hugging her. "That's all I need." And then he was gone. Out the door and into the hall. Maryse hadn't been kidding when she'd said the cops and reporters were camping out. As soon as Jace emerged, flashes went off in his face and a swarm of people converged on him. He pushed his way through, ignoring every question thrown his way. Soon, he reached the doors to the surgical floor waiting area. Two guards stood at the entrance. One reached out and pressed his hand against Jace's chest when he tried to enter.

"I'm sorry, Sir. No press allowed," the guard said.

Jace pulled at the blue scrub shirt. "Do I honestly look like press to you?"

The guard eyed him and huffed. "We've seen this ploy before. You're not fooling anyone."

Jace was just about to lay into the asswad when he felt a warm hand on his back. "It's all right, gentlemen. He's with me."

Jace turned around and was met with kind, sad eyes. "Luke, I—"

Luke shook his head and gestured to the door with one hand. The other held a steaming cup of disgusting hospital coffee. "Come on."

Jace entered the waiting room with Luke. It was nearly empty except for them. Across from the door, Simon sat—still dressed in his suit, his hair an even bigger mess and his eyes red like he'd been crying. He shot to his feet. "What's he doing here?" he demanded.

"Simon . . ." Luke moved toward him, but hadn't gone more than a few steps when a side door opened and a doctor dressed in scrubs like the ones Jace wore stepped out.

Luke turned toward him. Jace froze. Simon's eyes grew impossibly wider. The doctor started across the room, his mouth set into a straight line, giving nothing away. Jace's heart pounded hard against his ribs. As much as he wanted—needed—to know, he also didn't.

"Mr. Garroway?" the doctor said.

"Yes?" Luke stepped forward, and Jace saw the trembling in his hands.

The doctor held out his hand and Luke shook it. "I'm Doctor Grayson, the surgeon on your daughter's case. I apologize for not coming out sooner, but with the extensive blood loss and damage I wanted to get her through recovery before updating the family personally."

Jace stiffened at the word "family." He wasn't Clary's family. Neither was Simon, technically, but he was more so than Jace. A feeling of unworthiness swept over him. He shouldn't be there. He didn't deserve to be there.

The doctor talked with Luke, explaining what had been done and how Clary's body had reacted, but Jace could barely concentrate on his words. The only thing he heard, the only thing he needed to hear was that she was alive. He knew it wasn't a given that she'd stay that way, but for now, she was. It was all he needed. If she decided never to speak to him again, it would be okay, because she was breathing. Her heart was beating. He would give up anything, his job, his life, her, to keep it that way.

Jace felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Take her brother in first."

For a moment, Jace was confused. From what he understood, Jonathan was in surgery too. Then he saw Luke looking up at him.

He stepped back. "What?"

Luke's eyes darted to the space behind Jace's shoulder. "You don't have much time." Jace glanced back and saw two Agency guards come through the door to the waiting room. "Go," Luke said.

Jace turned back to Luke and swallowed against the tightness in his throat. "Thank you."

Luke smiled and Jace stepped forward, following the doctor through another doorway. A long, sterile hallway stretched out before him. Only doctors and nurses roamed the passage, coming and going from room to room, clipboards in their hands and serious expressions on their faces. It was eerily quiet, no one speaking unless they needed to. At the end of the corridor, the doctor pushed through another set of double doors. On the other side was a large, open area. A long, rectangular shaped nurse's station sat in the middle. All along the perimeter were glass cubicles, a bed and various machinery occupied each one. A long, green privacy curtain hung in the corner of every room. None were pulled at the moment, and Jace could see inside the cubicles they passed. Patients lay on the beds, many of them on life support. The ones who weren't were unconscious. Unease grew in his stomach.

The doctor led him past a dozen or so rooms before stopping at one in the corner. Jace forced himself to look up when the door opened. The smell of antiseptic wafted from the tiny space. The lights were dim, but he could still make out the shape of a tiny figure on the bed. The doctor gestured for him to enter, and Jace had to force his feet to move. As much as he wanted to be there, to see her, an even bigger part of him wanted to leave, to not see her this way.

Once he was inside, he heard the swish of the curtains closing, the doctor telling him "Five minutes," and the click of the door behind him. Suddenly, it was silent except for the steady beep of the monitor next to the bed. There was so much to see in the room, so many machines and tubes going everywhere. But Jace's eyes only focused on one thing. Her. He noticed the IV in her arm and the ugly bruises forming under the surface from where the nurses couldn't find a vein. He saw the pulse monitor on her finger, the splotchy paleness of her skin, and the tape residue around her mouth. He saw all the things that may make a person cower away in disgust or fear. But the only thing Jace really saw was her. She may have been damaged and weak, but she was still her. Still Clary. Still his girl.

Jace slowly walked around the side of the bed until he reached the head. He peered down at her, at the splash of color her hair made against the white pillow, the fan of red lashes resting on her freckled cheeks, the plump, pouting lips he'd kissed so many times. And his heart shattered. Right there, as he looked at what he'd caused. At what he'd failed to do. It was his job to protect her, to keep her out of harm's way, and here she was in the ICU of a hospital after being shot. He was a failure.

His chest tightened and his eyes stung. He reached down and lightly ran his finger over her knuckles. Her skin was still cool, but not as cold as it had been on the roof. His eyes raked over her face. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many explanations he wanted to give, but all of those stuck in his throat. None of them mattered. Not now. Not ever. He could give her every excuse in the world, but they wouldn't change a thing. He'd still lied, he'd still hurt her. He still didn't deserve her or her forgiveness.

So, instead of reasons and explanations and excuses, Jace said the only thing that really mattered. "I'm sorry." He leaned over and brushed a few straggling pieces of hair away from her forehead. "I'm so sorry. I won't blame you if you never speak to me again. In fact, I expect it. But, God . . ." His voice cracked and he gave in to the desire to bend and kiss her. His lips lingered at her forehead, his breath short and pained. "Please, just _please_ be okay. That's all I want. I promise I won't ask you for anything else ever again. I know you owe me nothing and I owe you so much. So God-damned much. But please, if you could do just this one thing for me. Just this one little thing . . ." His throat was so tight his voice trailed off to a whisper. "Just wake up and live and be happy. That's all I want. For the rest of my life, it's all I'll ever want." He drew in a breath and closed his eyes. _"Te quiero, nena. Te quiero tantísimo. Siempre."_

The beep of the monitor at the front of the bed sped slightly. Jace whipped his head up to look, panic crashing over him. He was just about to call the nurse when he felt a light fluttering at his hand. His heart jumped into his throat and he slowly glanced back down. Staring up at him was a pair of tired, green eyes. His breath caught. It was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen. Clary looked at him, not with anger or mistrust like he'd expected, but in the same way he looked at her, like he was her everything. His own heart raced as he gazed back at her. He didn't say a word, not sure whether or not he should. But then, he felt the flutter again, only this time it was clear what it was. She was touching him, brushing her fingers softly over his hand. They trailed up his forearm, light, barely there, until she wrapped them around him and tugged him forward.

Clary opened her mouth as if to speak, but grimaced, squeezed her lids shut tight, and swallowed hard. After a moment, she looked at him again, and in her eyes Jace saw all the things she couldn't say. All the things he didn't deserve her to say. But there it was, plain and clear. _I love you. I need you. I forgive you._ Jace shook his head and lowered it to hers once more. Her hand moved to his cheek and her fingers trailed through his hair. Then finally, after what felt like forever, she drew in a breath and said, "Hi." It was only one word, barely a whisper, hoarse and pained, but it was enough.

Jace felt as though his chest would explode in relief, in joy. He lifted his head and reached up, tracing the curve of her cheek. The feel of her skin under his fingers was like a salve, healing everything broken inside of him. He gazed at her for a few more seconds, so many thoughts and feelings and declarations bursting to flow from him, but he couldn't say any of them. The only thing he could say, the only words he could manage to push through his lips, were just as simple, yet so full, as the one she'd uttered to him, "Hi, baby."


	30. Hands that Heal

****The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.****

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**29. Hands that Heal**

As with any story, it's always hard to let go. But when it's time, it's time. Cass and Spitfire have told their story, and now it's time to move on. I have so enjoyed writing these two. Their passion, humor, and heartbreak became mine. That is my favorite part of crafting stories—to be able to live there, in their lives and world, just for a little while. I'm sad, as always, that this story has come to a close, but I'm happy about where it ends. There will be questions unanswered, things you'll probably wonder about, but if I haven't addressed them, it's probably because I don't know or they're not important. Believe it or not, a writer doesn't always know everything! Do I know what's going to happen after this chapter? Nope. Your guess is as good as mine! You can imagine anything and everything happening and you may be right!

Now, I said this was epilogue-esque, and the reason I said that was because it takes place a little bit into the future—not very far though. The larger plot of the story is over. Clary knows everything. The bad guys are either dead or behind bars. The good guys are either prospering or not. Life is moving on. This is just a teeny, tiny glimpse into the immediate future, and an even smaller one into what may happen later . . .

As always, I thank my lovely beta, Lightlacedwithbeauty. She's stuck with me through this entire beast of a story, and for that I will always be grateful. I love you, girl. *muah*

There are several of you who I have become close enough with to consider friends. You know who you are, and I love you too.

In closing, to all of you who have stuck with me even when you weren't quite sure where I was going . . . thank you for trusting me, for living this journey with me, Cass, and Spitfire. For allowing me to tell their story the way it was meant to be told. I know it wasn't always pretty, and some of you were scared I may do something unforgivable, but none of you ever told me how to write, or in which direction to go (well, some gave strongly worded suggestions, haha), and for that, I will forever be thankful. I've had a wonderful time writing for you all. So wonderful, in fact, I wish I had another story to give you, but I don't. Not right now. Maybe not ever—at least not fanfiction. We'll see how things work out for me. So, just in case we don't see each other again—or for awhile, please, come visit me on twitter and on my blog (links in my profile.) I'll be around. So, as DJ might say: _Hasta luego, mis amigos. Te quiero._

I hope you enjoy this final chapter.

XOXO ~ddpjclaf

_Chapter Songs:_

_**Stop Crying Your Heart Out – Oasis_

_**Halo - Beyoncé _

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"Just one more."

Clary pushed against the weights with her legs, sweat pouring down her temple and pain lancing her side. She tried to breathe through it like Rachel, her physical therapist, taught her, but it wasn't working. There was always a small ache present, no matter what she did, or how she moved. But when she worked hard, the pulling and stretching of the scar tissue inside was almost too much to bear. She let out a sharp breath through her teeth and dropped her leg. The weights clanged down on the machine.

She shook her head and curled inward, her hand cupped around her side. "I can't." Tears welled in her eyes, not just because of the hurt, but also because of disappointment. Four months had passed since the night she'd been shot. Four months of surgery and pain and therapy. Four months of "two steps forward, two steps back." Things had gotten better, but she was far from healed. Some days, she wondered if she ever would be.

"It's okay. We can try the extra weight on Monday," Rachel said.

Clary dropped her head back onto the padded headrest. She lifted her arm and swiped the sweat and tears away from her face. God, she hated how emotional she'd become. "I know. I was just hoping to be further along by now."

"It's only been a few months, and the trauma your body received was extensive. It's natural for it to resist. Sometimes these things just take time. You can only push so hard."

"I know that." Clary hung her head and drew in a breath, another pain cinched in her abdomen. "It's just . . . my boyfriend's coming back today and I . . . I was hoping . . ." She closed her eyes to hold back another bout of tears.

It seemed like longer than four months since she'd woken in the hospital to Jace leaning over her. Since the last time she'd been with him, since he'd touched her, kissed her.

"I'm sure he'll understand. From how you describe him, he seems like he would."

"I know he will," Clary said. "But he shouldn't have to simply understand. He shouldn't have to restrain himself when he wants to hold me . . . or even touch me. I'm just . . ." She swiped angrily at her eyes, clearing away the traitor tears that refused to go away. "I'm just sick of it. I want . . . I want . . ." She wanted to be well, to be how she had been and not this weak, useless, damaged . . . thing.

"Clary," Rachel sat on the bench, "you can have everything you had before. You're healing wonderfully. Trust me. It's just going to take a little time and patience. Nothing has to be different between you and your boyfriend." She smiled knowingly. "He'll just have to be a little bit careful with you for awhile."

Clary nodded and dried her cheeks again. Time. Everything seemed to take time. All she wanted was for time to pass. Since the day they'd taken him away, she'd never wanted anything more.

Rachel patted Clary's knee. "Same time on Wednesday, okay?"

"Yeah."

"All right." Rachel leaned in and whispered, "I believe your ride is here."

Clary glanced up. Standing near the front of the gym studying a poster for a women's bodybuilding competition, was Simon. He held his head cocked to the side, his lip curled up in disgust. Clary couldn't help the smile creeping over her lips. She stood carefully and limped over to where her things were situated. She shoved her jacket, towel, and sports bottle into her bag, grabbed the ugly, black walking stick the hospital had given her, and made her way over to where Simon waited.

"Hey," she said when she reached him, already aching just walking across the room.

Simon reached out and took her bag absently, his focus still on the poster. His eyes slid away from the beefed up woman, almost as if he had to force them, and met Clary's. "Do these women realize they look like dudes? I mean, seriously."

"I bet you wouldn't say that to their faces."

"No way," Simon said, giving Clary his arm so she didn't have to use the walking stick. He knew how much she hated the thing. "I'm secure enough in my manhood to admit that any one of them could most definitely take me down."

Clary threw her head back and laughed. Through all that had happened, Simon had remained, essentially, the same. She was glad for it. Everything else in her life had been turned upside down, and in some cases, transformed so completely she couldn't even recognize them anymore. But not Simon. He was still goofy, still dorky, still hers. He'd always be hers.

They pushed through the door and exited onto the sidewalk. Sunlight shone down in beams from small breaks in the thick clouds overhead. Clary felt the undercurrent of warmth in the air. Early spring flowers pushed through thin layers of snow, adding a bit color to the bland, gray landscape on the patch of grass outside the hospital doors. A yellow taxi waited near the curb. It cost more than the metro, but Clary had a hard time making it up and down the stairs to the station, especially after one of her therapy sessions. This was just easiest for now.

Simon helped Clary into the cab and directed the driver to their apartment. Clary stared out the window, watching the city blur past and thinking about seeing Jace again. The last image she had of him was when they'd come for him at the hospital. One minute he was bent over her, his hand on her face, a smile on his lips, whispering so softly. And the next, Agents burst into her room, cuffed Jace's hands behind his back, and led him toward the door. She could still clearly remember the way he turned to her, grinned, and said, "No matter what happens, Spitfire, for me, it was all worth it," before they shoved him out the door.

"So, tonight's the night, huh?" Simon's voice broke through her thoughts. He didn't sound pleased. Clary figured he probably wasn't. After everything went down the night of the ball, he'd had a hard time accepting Clary's forgiveness of Jace. Simon assumed she would end things. When she didn't, he hadn't spoken to her for three days—which was a long time for them.

Clary knew she had plenty of reasons to be angry. But how could she stay mad? It had been so clear to her how Jace felt, and when she looked back, she could see how tortured he'd been about everything. But most important of all, she believed him when he said he loved her.

"Yeah." She fidgeted with her fingers.

Simon glanced over at her. "Nervous?"

She nodded. "A little."

"Why?"

Clary shrugged and looked back out the window, but the shrug was a lie. She knew exactly why. When Jace left, or rather had been shipped off, for "rehabilitative training," she'd just woken from surgery. After that, she'd spent nearly eight weeks in the hospital. Surgery after surgery to try and fix everything that had been damaged, treating various infections, and recovering from a bout of pneumonia she'd contracted after being opened up so many times. It had just been a rough time in general. Not to mention the emotional stress having to do with her father—Valentine—her brother, Jonathan, and learning that Luke was, in fact, her biological father. When she thought about it, she could still hardly believe any of it was true. Pretty much everything she'd ever known was a lie.

She felt a hand on her knee. "This won't bother him," Simon said.

Tears pricked at her eyes. She'd been crying so much lately and—as with so many other things—she was sick of it. "You don't know that." The doubt over how Jace would feel about her now, seeing her struggling to even walk due to the nerve damage on her left side, had been nagging her for weeks. Would he really want someone like that? What if she never got better? What if hobbling around with a cane was the best it got? Clary shuddered at the thought. She thought she'd be able to make a dent in the physical therapy while he was gone, but she'd barely progressed to walking on her own. She felt pathetic and weak, and she hated it.

Simon sighed and situated himself on the seat so his knees bumped Clary's. "Look, you know I don't like the guy. I didn't before and I especially don't now. But for some ungodly reason you love him, and he loves you. He's not going to turn away from you just because you're healing slower than you thought. And if he does," Simon paused, "I guess I'll just have to punch him again." He shrugged. "It wasn't so bad last time."

"You sprained your hand last time. And he didn't hit you back. You may not be so lucky a second time."

"I'm not worried," Simon said, but his eyes told a different story. "I will always defend your honor. Even if I get my butt handed to me doing it."

Clary laid her head on Simon's shoulder, closed her eyes, and sighed. She stayed that way until she felt the cab come to a stop. Even then, part of her wanted to keep them closed, but reluctantly, she opened them. Simon exited the vehicle and came around to her side, reaching in to help her out. It had become the norm in the past several weeks, both of them learning as they went. Simon went everywhere with her, mostly because she couldn't get up or down stairs by herself, but also, Clary thought, because he felt like he needed to protect her. She still didn't like that, but at that point, she almost didn't have a choice. Her pride would have to take a hiatus because she needed help.

Simon pulled her out of the cab, careful not to yank or jar anything. Despite his efforts, it still hurt. It always hurt. She did her best not to grimace. He handed her the cane and shouldered her bag, then the two of them moved toward the front doors. Once inside, Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and crouched down. Clary hesitated.

He glanced over his shoulder. "It's either this or bridal style, you choose."

"God, I hate this," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders and clambering onto his back. The bridal carry hurt less, but Clary just wasn't that comfortable having Simon hold her like that. It was too personal, too . . . intimate.

"Just shut up and deal, all right? Do you think I enjoy carrying another hundred pounds up and down the stairs all day? No, but I try and look on the bright side," he said, starting up the steps to their second floor apartment.

"There's a bright side to all of this?" she asked the back of his head.

"Uh huh. My thigh muscles are going to be outstanding when this is over."

Clary laughed and buried her face into his back. She stayed there, slightly hugging him, until he came to an abrupt halt at the top of the stairs. Simon's breath caught and his body went rigid.

Clary lifted her head. "What's—" But she didn't need to finish her question.

A few yards down the hall, sitting on the floor next to her and Simon's door, was Jace. He was dressed all in black with matching boots and a hat that lay on the floor beside him. It looked like some sort of uniform. Clary had never seen him dressed that way before. Jace glanced up, his eyes taking in the two of them, and pushed himself to his feet.

Clary slid slowly down Simon's back, barely even registering the twinge at her side over the pounding of her heart. He was there. Really there. Clary's hands shook, unable to contain her nerves now that she could see him. Simon muttered something about "taking a walk," dropped her bag, and disappeared back down the stairs. Clary leaned heavily on the cane at her side, just staring.

In the four months he'd been gone, he'd changed. Not a lot, but he had. His hair was a little shorter, a little darker. His face was paler and thinner, but still just as beautiful as always. She had the sudden urge to run and jump into his arms, showering his face with kisses and holding him as tightly as she could manage. But she couldn't. She couldn't run or jump. She could barely walk. Her chin trembled and tears stung at her eyes. Before she could stop them, they fell over her cheeks.

Jace's eyes widened. "I'm sorry," he said in a rush, and took a couple of steps forward before pausing. His voice, smooth and low, sent pangs of longing through her. "I should have called and told you I was back early, but I couldn't wait. I—"

Clary shook her head. "It's not that."

Jace's shoulders relaxed but the concern on his face didn't lessen.

"It's just," she drew in a sharp breath, "you don't know how much I want to run over there and wrap myself around you, but I can't. I can't run. I . . ." She lifted the cane as more tears fell, "I just can't."

Jace was across the hallway and wrapping his arms around her before she had the chance to say another word. Clary dropped her walking stick and hugged him around the neck, her fingers slipping into his hair and her nose burrowing into the folds of his shirt. The scent of him crashed over her and a shiver slid down her spine. "God," she said, trying to stop the tears. "I don't think I can let go." She curled her fingers into his clothing.

"You don't have to let go, baby. You don't ever have to let go."

She let out a soft cry and turned her face into him, her lips kissing every piece of skin she could reach. His jaw, his neck, his chin. Jace's hands slid up her back and around to her face, directing her mouth to his. He was warm and soft and tasted just how she remembered—vanilla and mint and Jace. Her tears didn't obey and ran down her face, over her lips, coating their kiss with salt. Her fingers were on his face, in his hair, grasping at his shoulders, desperately pulling, needing, wanting, not able to get close enough.

"Hold me," she demanded, breathless.

Jace bent and tucked his hands under her thighs, lifting her onto his hips. She could tell he was being careful. He didn't squeeze her tight or jostle her too much. Clary wrapped her legs the best she could around his waist and kissed him harder, deeper. The pain in her side was still there, but she barely noticed it, too consumed by him to care.

"I missed you so much," she said between kisses.

"I missed you too." He held her up with one arm while brushing a few straggling hairs out of her face and cupping her cheek with the other. His fingers lingered at her jaw. So soft. So tender. "We should go inside before one of the neighbors decides to watch through their peep hole."

She smiled. "So, you're not into exhibitionism?"

Jace shook his head and peppered kisses to the underside of her chin. "Not today," he whispered in her ear, working his way back around to her mouth. Clary felt him start to move beneath her, then he paused in front of the door. "Keys," he murmured against her lips.

It took Clary a few moments to comprehend what he'd said, her head a mass of fog. "What? Oh." She groaned, still refusing to remove her mouth from his, afraid if she did, she'd wake up and find it was all a dream. If it was, she never wanted to wake up again. "They're in my bag."

Jace turned his face toward where she'd stood just moments before. Her bag and cane lay in the middle of the hall near the top of the stairs. Carefully, Jace lowered her to her feet. She reached out and steadied herself against the wall. He turned and made his way over to her things and bent to collect them. When he stood before her once more, he held out the bag. She rifled through the front pocket and withdrew her keys, turning slightly to place it in the lock. Once the door was open, she turned back to Jace. His eyes were lowered and studying the slick black walking stick in his hand. Clary couldn't tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.

She bit her lip and cleared her throat. Jace glanced up. "My recovery's been a little slower than expected." She reached out and took the stick from him, her fingers shaking. "I was just getting back from physical therapy."

"Hence the piggyback ride up the stairs." He offered a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah." Clary ducked her head and heat crawled up her neck. "Stairs don't really agree with me right now." She cocked her head toward the door. "Come on. You probably want to get out of those." She gestured to his clothing.

Jace peered down. When he looked back up, his mouth was pulled up in a devilish smirk. "Anxious to get me out of my clothes already, Spitfire?"

Clary eyed him. "Normally, yes, but I'm liking this whole soldier/Agent look you've got going on."

"You do, do you?" He took a few steps closer until he stood right in front of her, their bodies nearly touching with only a breath of space between them.

Clary itched to grab his shirt and pull him into her, hard. "Mmhmm." Instead, she let her fingers trail over his face, down his neck, and trace along his collarbone, gripping the starched fabric of his collar. His breath caught and his eyes darkened. "Very much." Her gaze moved over him, studying the line of his brow, the plane of his nose, the curve of his lips, the bright gold of his eyes. She thought she'd already known them all by heart, but as she stared at him now, she realized how fickle her memory really was.

"Then I should probably thank the asses who made me wear this on the flight back," his voice was rough like he was using every bit of strength to restrain himself.

Clary clutched his shirt tighter. "You really need to get in here."

"Yes, Ma'am." He nodded as his lips slammed down on hers and his arm went around her, pushing her through the open door.

Pain sliced through her side and she cried out involuntarily. Jace released her and jumped back, almost as if he'd been burned.

"Oh, God," he said, his face morphing into a look of panic. "I forgot for a second." He thrust his hand up into his hair and reached out with the other, dropping it before he actually touched her. "Are you okay?"

Clary struggled to catch her breath as the waves subsided, realizing that her entire body ached from her workout. She nodded. "It's always worse after a session. A long, hot shower usually helps."

Jace swallowed. "Right. Maybe you should go do that, then." He didn't look her in the eye.

Clary's chest squeezed. She took a step forward and tentatively reached out for him, running her hand up his arm. "You could always join me," she said, lacing her words with hope. It had been too long. Way too long. And she needed to feel him again, against her, around her.

He reached up and took her hand, entwining their fingers together before lifting them and kissing the back of hers. He smiled at her but it was reluctant, almost shy, very unlike him. "I don't think that'd be a good idea."

Disappointment rippled through her. With a short nod, she stepped back and withdrew her hand from his. She felt his eyes on her, but she couldn't bear to look up at him. "Okay then, I'll just be a few minutes."

"Clary . . ."

She heard him call to her as she turned her back and limped away, the cane clicking against the tiled parts of the floor. Tears burned her eyes, but she held them back. "Make yourself at home. You can eat or change or . . . whatever. I won't be long." Clary didn't know how she made it to her room and into the bathroom before tears fell over her cheeks. It wasn't that she didn't understand, she did. More than anyone knew. But she'd hoped it would be different. Hoped he could see her the way he had before, but maybe that was too much to wish for. Maybe she was too damaged now.

While the water heated, Clary undressed, catching her reflection in the mirror. For the most part she looked the same. Still short, still thin, still pale. It was the collection of raised, red scars lining the left side of her abdomen that really marked any change. The circular one in the middle—the one the bullet made as it ripped through her flesh—was the ugliest. It had no definite edges, only jagged ends that looked pieced together haphazardly. Several straighter scars surrounded the wound where she'd needed surgery after surgery in the months following. She closed a hand over the area and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water trail over her and wash away the grief and ache.

Clary didn't know how long she'd taken, but the water started to run cool before she turned it off. Stepping out, she dried and slipped into a clean pair of panties and a camisole she'd left in there that morning. She ran a brush through her hair and wrapped herself in a robe before exiting to her room once more.

She paused in the doorway and her breath caught when she saw Jace sitting on the corner of her bed, his hands clasped and dangling between his knees, his head down. Clary cleared her throat and he looked up, his brows drawn together and eyes pained. He hadn't changed, hadn't even taken off the heavier outer shirt of his uniform.

"I feel better now," Clary said, hoping her words would reassure him that she was okay.

He nodded slowly. "Good." His eyes traveled over her bathrobe clad body before meeting hers. There was so much emotion flashing through them, Clary didn't know how to interpret what they were trying to say. After a few moments, he spoke again, "When I said it wasn't a good idea . . . I didn't mean I didn't want you, Clary. I always want you. I just . . . I'm . . . I . . ." He lowered his head and drew in a breath, his shoulders moving up and down visibly.

Clary gripped her cane and crossed the room, stopping only when she stood less than a foot in front of him. She tucked two fingers under his chin and lifted his face to hers. "You're what?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again. "I'm scared."

Clary frowned and studied him, her gaze raking his face and seeing the truth behind his words. "Why?"

"I'm scared to touch you. Scared I'll hurt you again. It's been so long. So long . . . I don't know if I can control myself enough to not hurt you."

She let her fingers slide along his jaw and cupped his cheek. "You won't hurt me." He started to shake his head, but Clary gripped his face tighter. His eyes rested on hers. "You won't hurt me," she repeated, her words barely a breath. "Touch me, Jace."

For what seemed like an eternity, he stared at her, indecision flashing through his eyes, but finally, he raised one hand. Anticipation flowed through Clary as Jace's fingers tangled with the knot on her robe, prying it apart and letting the ends fall to her sides. The fabric parted and Clary closed her eyes. With them shut, she knew nothing but the sensation of the smooth pile as it brushed away from her skin and the feel of his soft, tentative touch when it ghosted over her. So warm, so right, against her flesh. She knew he was seeing her scars, but she tried her hardest not to let it bother her.

Jace's fingers traced along the top of her panties, paused when they reached her left side, and Clary heard the intake of his breath before he continued upward, grazing the raised, scarred skin. It didn't hurt, he was too gentle for that, but she still felt anxiety creep over her. What did he think? Was he repulsed? But just as that thought entered her mind, she felt an entirely different sensation. It was warmer, softer—if that were possible—against the damaged part of her body. Her eyes flew open and she glanced down. Jace sat forward, his hands cupping her hips and his lips kissing her stomach, lightly, carefully. His fingers lingered at the dip of her waist, then trailed around back, curling into her, drawing her in.

"I'm sorry," he said, his breath hot against her skin. "I'm so sorry."

Clary threaded her fingers into his hair. "You didn't do this."

He shook his head and looked up at her, his eyes containing more grief than Clary ever imagined he felt. "I may as well have." He paused, and a visible shudder shook him. "It was my job to protect you and I failed. I failed you."

Clary bent and touched her lips to his forehead. "You didn't fail me." He let out an uneven breath as she moved to his cheeks and kissed one, then the other. "You saved me." Her mouth moved to his, taking it gently. "You've always saved me." He closed his eyes, and Clary slid her fingers over his face, taking in each crease and arc, the roughness of the scruff on his jaw. "You're still saving me," she whispered before kissing him again.

Jace's lips parted, in invitation, in surrender. Clary's mouth molded over his, claiming, tasting, reveling in how good it was. How good it still was. His hands stayed light at her sides, but Clary's trailed down his neck, over his shoulders, and across his chest until she met the first of the buttons on his shirt. Slowly, she popped them open, one by one. Jace moved his hands under the flaps of her robe, tracing the opening until he reached her shoulders and slipped the loose fabric from her arms. It fell in a pool at her feet. Once it was gone, he touched her again, leaving a line of fire along her back.

Clary shivered, but didn't let it stop her from pushing the shirt off from him. He helped her remove it completely, revealing a charcoal t-shirt underneath. Clary grabbed the hem and pulled it over his head without pause. There was no reason to wait. It had been long enough. Too long. An expanse of inked skin lay bare before her and she could not resist the urge to touch. She lowered her hands to his shoulders and ran them down his arms, feeling each line and curve, the flex and release of his biceps as he pulled her carefully down to the bed next him.

She lay on her side, her hands all over him, spreading over his chest, ghosting down his stomach, and trailing up over his side. Jace stretched out beside her and slipped his hand under her camisole, his touch smooth and cool like silk. His fingers spread over her ribs, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. Clary couldn't hold back the gasp that fell from her lips and pressed her hips harder into him. She pulled his face down to hers, her fingers twisted in his hair, kissing him until she couldn't breathe. Jace grasped her leg under the knee and draped it over his hip, fitting them even closer together.

Being with him like that, their bodies aligned at every point, connected by their mouths and hands, their bare skin sliding against each other, Clary could almost forget everything that had happened four months earlier. Nothing felt any different. His hands were just as careful, yet, confident, his kiss just as delicious, his body just as in tune with hers as it always had been. The same all-consuming fire, the same never-satisfied need, was all there. If she had to measure, she'd have to say it was even more. And she needed it, needed him.

Her hands slid from his hair and moved down his body, taking their time to touch, to memorize, until they stopped at his belt. She fingered it lightly, then with more determination, undoing it and pulling it through the loops of his pants. But when she reached for the button-fly, Jace stopped her.

"Wait," he said, his voice strained. "We don't have to do this right now." Jace took her hand and entangled it with his. "You know that, right? I don't expect . . . It's okay if we don't."

His breath flowed over her face, fast and shallow, and she wanted to taste it, but she stayed still. He was still afraid. She could feel it in the slight tremble of his hand. "What do you want?" she asked.

Jace cupped her face and pressed his forehead to hers. "I want to keep going, but . . ."

"But what?"

He met her eyes. "But I don't need to. Not if it means hurting you."

"What _do_ you need?" Clary wrapped her fingers around his wrist.

His thumb brushed over her cheek and his eyes moved from one of hers to the other. "You." He kissed her once. "Just you. Just this. All I need, all I'll ever need, is to be here with you. To touch you. To hold you. To fall asleep and wake up next to you. To know that when I kiss you," he placed another chaste kiss to her lips, "I won't wake up in a barrack with fifty other men. To know that when you touch me, it's really you and not just another dream." His voice lowered to a whisper. "To know that I can do this, see this, feel this for the rest of my life."

Clary's throat tightened. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many thoughts and questions swirling through her mind, but the only one that came out was, "You dreamt of me?"

His eyes shone as they stared into hers. "Every night."

"Me too." Her breath hitched. "Every single night I wished for this, for you."

His hand slid back into her hair. "Listen," he said, his voice trembling now, "before we go any further, I need to make sure."

Clary's heart thudded against her ribs. "Make sure of what?"

"That you understand."

She pulled back and his hand fell from her face. "Understand what?"

"What it'll be like if you choose to be with me." Jace swallowed. "Now that you know . . . what I am, what I do. There are certain . . . things that come along with that. Things you might not like. Things that might make you change your mind."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that there will be times when I have to leave. It could be in the middle of the night or in the middle of the afternoon. And I can't tell you where I'm going or how long I'll be gone. I could be gone a few hours or a few weeks. Sometimes I can't contact you." He looked down, almost as if he were ashamed. "There will be lies. Some of omission and some flat out. And you'd have to lie too. No one outside of who already knows can know what I am."

Clary sighed in relief. "Is that all?"

Jace glanced up, the shock evident in the curve of his brow. "Isn't that enough?"

She nodded and reached out for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Yes, but I already knew that."

"And you're okay with it?"

"Does being okay with it get me you?"

His eyes traveled over her face. "They still own me, Clary. They still get to tell me where to go and what to do, and I have to do it."

"But," she lifted her hands and held his face, "do I still get _you_?"

"Always. No matter where I am, what I'm doing, or who I'm pretending to be, I will always be yours."

"Then that's all I need." She leaned in, pausing just before she touched his lips. Her fingers traced the curve of his mouth. "I choose you, Jace. For better or worse, I choose you."

He grinned. "Are we reciting marriage vows now?"

Clary didn't return his smile; instead, she glanced up at him. She bit her lip and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe." She looked down.

"Clary? What . . ."

"I don't know," she repeated. "Just . . . maybe, someday . . . I might like that." She chanced a peek and found him staring at her, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry," she spluttered, her face heating. "I don't mean to freak you out. I didn't mean now. I just meant someday. You know . . . maybe . . . Oh, just forget I said any—"

Her words were cut off by his mouth. It took her a moment to comprehend what was happening, but once she did, she couldn't help but let herself give in to it. After a few seconds, Jace pulled back. Clary slowly met his eyes. They didn't show fear or hesitancy like she would have expected. His hand swept her cheek and he smiled, that mischievous, cocky smile she'd first fallen in love with.

"Well then, Spitfire," he said, his thumb brushing over her mouth, "maybe _someday_ I'll ask."


End file.
